


Days are Nights and Nights Bright Days

by athena_crikey



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Drama, M/M, manga-verse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-07-29 10:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 43,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7681000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena_crikey/pseuds/athena_crikey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's lived his life dreaming of the past, of another self, another life. But old sins have long shadows, and old tasks can't be left undone. Reincarnation fic/Modern AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Dreamer

**Author's Note:**

> I dreamt the first chapter of this, and ended up writing it. Started 5 years ago and still going, so fingers crossed I can finish it...
> 
> Title from Shakespeare's Sonnet 43: All days are nights to see till I see thee / And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.

In his dreams, he was a short boy with chestnut hair and golden eyes, who ate and slept and bathed with a golden crown round his forehead. In his dreams he travelled in a battered jeep across endless deserts and over snow-covered mountains. In his dreams he had food and friends, competition and contentment. In his dreams, he had a foundation on which his life was based. Had someone to protect, to mock, to respect. To love. In his dreams, he was Son Goku, whose life was unimaginably hard and still so amazingly full he felt he would drown in it. 

And every morning he woke up, and remembered that that wasn’t him. 

\----------------------------------------------------

Sonhador was woken, as usual, by the banging on the wall. He got up, making a face at the hunger clawing hard fingers into his belly, and crossed the dirty floor to push out the piece of corrugated metal that served as both windowpane and shutter. 

Standing outside in the early dawn, bare feet covered in dust rather than mud after a week of dry nights, were two boys in well-tailored rags. The Mielas twins, whose mother tried the best she could. He smiled and propped the metal sheet up absently with his elbow to lean out over the window frame.

“Yo! What’s up, guys?”

Alexo, on the left with the scar along the line of his cheekbone, made a face. “Sonhador, the east wall fell in again. Mamãe said to bring you; she’s got breakfast ready.” 

Sonhador’s briskness faded into tired resolution; the wall was no new battle. “Alright, then. We’ll need nails this time, y’know.” 

“We’ve got ‘em; Mamãe traded with the Puertos,” chimed in Dios on the right.

Sonhador nodded. “Okay. Be out in a minute.” He dropped the sheet with a rough bang, pulled on a pair of loose pants, and grabbed the metal pipe out of the corner. 

Opening the door, he walked out into early morning in one of Fortaleza’s many favelas with a wide smile on his face.

\----------------------------------------------------------

The favela of Palmeira was built on the steep western hills of Fortaleza and had, on clear days, a good view of the bay. Sonhador walked down the uneven slopes of the hillside shanty-town with his pipe over his shoulder, jogging after the capering twins ahead of him. The various inhabitants of Palmeira greeted him as he passed with smiles and welcomes, occasionally asking favours or passing on information.

“Oh, Sonhador, my roof’s leaking again!”

“Gio, you lazy bastard, how can you know that? It hasn’t rained in a whole damn week!”

“Morning, Sonhador! My woman’s making feijoada this afternoon; I’ll send the kids by with some.”

“Thanks! Her feijoada’s the best!”

“Oi, Sonhador! Ella said she saw Ferdinaz and his gang back in the neighbourhood – better keep an eye out for them!”

“Hah, they’re the ones who’d better look out!”

“Sonhador, have you seen my nephew Manuel?”

“No, but I’ll watch for him – he hasn’t gone ghost hunting _again,_ has he?”

By the time they had twisted their way through the narrow streets and alleyways of the slum to the Meilas’ home, the sun was sitting well above the sea, and Sonhador had accumulated a day’s worth of chores as well as a smattering of return favours. 

Fixing the wall called more for steady hands and a modicum of planning than brute strength, and Sonhador instructed the boys on how to put it in place and hold it while he banged the nails in with the end of his pipe. Five feet long and an inch and a half in diameter, it was less provocative than a knife or a gun, and in his hands considerably more dangerous. It never left his side when he went out; enemies were easily made in the favela, and he had friends everywhere who might need help. 

“Sonhador, if you don’t start making your own breakfast, you’ll be nothing but skin and bones by the time you’re twenty.” 

Many of them, fortunately, repaid his help with meals.

Sonhador glanced over at the twins’ mother with a smile, and continued beating in the nails. “You know me, Tia. I burn water. ‘Sides, then I’d miss your delicious meals.”

“Once that damn wall agrees to stay upright, you won’t have any cause to be coming by here for meals. The boys and me should do alright with the laundry and tailoring, and Leo brings a little something up with him from the city on the weekends.”

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine,” he assured her, holding up a new nail with one hand and hammering it in with care.

“You should go into the city yourself, Sonhador. There must be opportunity there for an energetic, hardworking young man. Especially one like you. You could make a proper life for yourself.”

He kept hammering evenly, didn’t miss a stroke. But, face to the wall, his eyes were looking far into the distance. “The life I’m after isn’t there, Tia.”

“Oh? Where then? Sao Paolo? Rio?”

Finishing the nail, he glanced back over his shoulder and smiled, wide and false. “You know my name, Tia. It stuck for a reason.” Sonhador turned back, and picked up another nail. “But hey, what’s this about breakfast?”

\----------------------------------------------------

The sun was setting behind the hills by the time he finished his work for the day, the city in the valley below already painted in shades of grey. The air was thick with the smell of cooking fires, with smoke and fish and spicy bean stew. Sonhador carried his dinner wrapped up in banana leaves under one arm, whistling softly under his breath as he strode along. Until he came to his home, and stopped.

The front door was open.

Sonhador set the small bundle of food down gently on the ground, and swung the pole down off his shoulder into an easy two-handed grip. Stared into the darkness for a few beats waiting for his eyes to adjust, and then stepped in.

“Mr. Sonhador? I’m sorry, but the street was crowded, and the door was open…”

There was a tall foreigner standing in the centre of his single-room home, knees flush against one of his two chairs. He was Asian, but it was his clothes that marked him as a foreigner, far too expensive for the favela, and far too hot for Brazil. His dark hair was trimmed in a careful close cut, and his dark eyes were hidden behind red rectangle-framed glasses. And, more importantly, his hands were empty. Sonhador’s first impression was of a quiet, circumspect man with a pleasant voice.

“Just Sonhador,” replied Sonhador genially, without letting go of his weapon. And then, glancing at the crooked chair, “Been waiting long?”

“A while. Your neighbours didn’t know when you would be back, and no one seemed to know where you were, so I thought it best to wait.”

He had a soft voice, polite. And if he was carrying a gun under that loose white shirt, he wouldn’t be able to get to it fast enough. Sonhador reached up and pulled the cord for the single electric bulb hanging from the ceiling. It came slowly to life in a popping, crackling start, illuminating the tiny room in a buttery glow. He stepped out and picked up his dinner while the bulb heated up.

When he returned the man had seated himself again, and Sonhador could see that he was young, not much older than himself. That his clothes, while expensive and well-made, were plain and his boots practical. That his eyes, behind the clear glass, were sharp and watchful.

“So,” he said. “You’re here to talk to me. About what?” He shuffled his dinner under his elbow and grabbed the second chair, spun it around preparatory to straddling it.

“About Son Goku,” answered the man, watching him closely as he interlaced his fingers over his knees. Sonhador stiffened, hand on the pipe tightening. His elbow, pulling away from his side, lost hold of the banana leaf. It fell to the floor and burst open, spilling cooked rice and beans all over the dirty wood.

“It took a while to find you, you know, although really not very long at all considering the size of the favela. I talked to a lot of people. You’re very famous, Sonhador. A young man with no name who fights with a lead pipe as if trained to it, even though he never was. You protect your friends thoughtlessly and make enemies carelessly, but despite the fact that you have apparently lived here your entire life no one knows very much about you at all. You’re everyone’s friend, without being close to any of them.” He paused, as if waiting for confirmation or denial, but when neither was forthcoming he went on, inexorable as the setting sun.

“You know things you can’t have learned, and when they ask you how you know you tell them you dreamed them up. Which is why, I suppose, they call you Dreamer. It’s a good name. What do you dream about, Sonhador?”

Sonhador’s eyes were wide in the soft light, the end of his pipe skidding across the floor with a bumping rumble when he spread astonished hands. “Who are you?”

“My name is Xu Lian, Wen Xu Lian. But a long time ago, I was someone else. A good friend of Son Goku’s, even if he was always threatening to eat me. We travelled across an entire continent together.”

‘To _eat – Jeep?!_ ”

Xu Lian smiled. “I can’t imagine why Hakkai never gave him a name. But then, I suppose he didn’t much care.”

“B-but, what do you mean you _were_ him? He was real?” He sat down now, knees giving out under him so that he fell like a sack onto the chair, which creaked in protest. “And Goku? … Was he…?” he added, in a quieter tone.

The man shrugged, tailored white shirt rippling like a flag in the wind. “Of course. Did you really believe that all your life you’ve just been having extremely vivid and intricate dreams? Son Goku really did travel to India with the others, almost 1500 years ago.”

Sonhador dropped his forehead onto the top of the chair’s backrest, let his long ragged hair fall down to further cover his face. His shoulders were heaving, but he only recognized the choked laughter when it broke out past his throat. “That’s – that’s almost the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Not the most?”

“A guy telling me he used to be a dragon-jeep in his past life probably tops that list. But…”

“But?” A quiet question, less curious than prompting. Pulling the answer from him, like an angler tugging at a fish.

Sonhador sighed, and looked up slowly. “I’ve always known it. I mean, I know what food I’ve never even heard of tastes like. I know how to set broken bones, and how to break ‘em again. I know how to fight, and fight damn well. The people, the places, maybe I could’ve made that stuff up. But there’s no way I could know how to take on five guys with a piece of lead pipe and _win_ , without having done it. So if you tell me 1500 years ago, I was Son Goku? I can believe that. ‘Cause even though I’d be happy to believe the alternative – that I’m five kinds of crazy – that doesn’t go halfway toward answering most of the questions.”

Xu Lian smiled, just a gentle upwards tug of his lips.

“Y’know, you don’t look too much like him.”

“And you don’t look much like Goku. It doesn’t seem to be a requirement.”

“A – wait,” Sonhador straightened, quick as a whip crack as the name ran down his spine: Sanzo. It was the memories, the dreams. Most of the time, they lay still and quiet as a lazy river, there to be considered when he wanted to and otherwise ignored. But sometimes, when he got caught up in situations too similar to those Goku had been stuck in, or when a knife was whistling at his throat, they over-flooded. Broke the dam between his mind and Goku’s memories, and drowned him in knowledge that wasn’t his. 

The one exception to that was Sanzo. He wasn’t Son Goku, was just a new person with the Seiten Taisei’s memories, but Sanzo still ran as an undercurrent in his thoughts for all that. Was always there, just below the surface, waiting for any bout of loneliness to catch him off guard and make him _want_. Just like the monkey caged up on Mt. Gogyou, he was calling to someone he didn’t know, had never met. And never would, because Genjyo Sanzo had been dead for 1500 years. Except – “If you’ve got Jeep’s memories, and I’ve got Goku’s – what about the others?”

Xu Lian nodded, face already serious once more. “They’re here, too. Hakkai and Gojyo were living in America; they found each other, somehow. Sanzo –”

It hurt, like a hand twisting in his chest. Just the sound of the name, one he’d never heard anyone else say. It shouldn’t have mattered. Shouldn’t have meant anything at all – he _wasn’t_ Son Goku. But at the name, his heart leapt.

“Sanzo was living in Paris, I found him by accident.”

“Is he okay?” The question shot out of his mouth before he could stop it, prompted by ancient instincts which were still sharp as new knives. Xu Lian didn’t smile this time, but Sonhador could see it in his eyes all the same.

“He’s fine. He’s … He looks exactly like Sanzo – exactly. That’s how I found him.” The man unfolded his hands and reached into the inner pocket of his rain coat. Pulled out a shiny page folded in half, all bold print and bright colours. He handed it to Sonhador between two fingers like a bill, eyes on Sonhador rather than the paper. 

The paper was slick magazine-issue, the kind whose pages slid against each other as if buttered. The letters on the outside were Roman, but Sonhador couldn’t read them. He unfolded the paper carefully – it was well-worn – and stared at the bright picture taking up the entirety of the page. 

It was of a young man posing alone in a white room. The lack of colour in the background immediately drew the eye to the gold of his hair and the bright purple of his clothes; a mauve silk shirt and darker lilac jeans with deep plum leather shoes. But his clothes only caught attention for an instant. As soon as they had been processed it was the model’s eyes that stood out from above sharp cheekbones: they were looking straight at the camera in half-lidded boredom, and they were amazingly violet. 

Sonhador stared down at the picture, and if he hadn’t known it was impossible, he would have sworn it was of Genjyo Sanzo. It was a full minute before he could tear his eyes away, and then he looked up at Xu Lian in shock. 

“I know. I was flipping through magazines at the airport and… there he was. I stared at the picture for almost five minutes before ripping it out. After that, finding him was just a matter of calling up his agency – he’s Swedish, living in Paris. But,” Xu Lian paused, glanced down at the picture and then continued more softly, “ – he doesn’t remember. No memories. Nothing. I’m not sure why, yet. Hakkai and Gojyo both do, as do you and I, of course.”

Sonhador felt his face falling, and hardened it to stone. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t Goku, so what tie could he expect to have with the man who wasn’t Sanzo? Absolutely none at all. It would be completely ridiculous, trying to recreate a bond so much deeper than friendship with a total stranger. 

But hearing the denial aloud was still like watching everything he had ever hoped for burn to the ground, right in front of him. It _scorched._

In his hand, the paper crinkled. He blinked and opened his fist to see creases crossing over violet eyes, and yelped. Took the picture in both hands and tried to smooth it out over his thigh, and only wore the paper out further.

Xu Lian waved away his concern. “Don’t worry about it – you can keep it, if you want.”

“I,” Sonhador stopped, folding the paper carefully along its original crease and placing it with a slow motion on the windowsill behind him while he collected his scattered thoughts, “ – you said you found him. And you found Hakkai and Gojyo, too? And me? Why? How?” His throat felt like sandpaper, rubbing his words raw. But Xu Lian didn’t comment, simply answered the question. 

“I was born and raised in a very ancient family in Chang’an. When I was young, I visited the Endless Palace on a school trip, and was separated from my class. I found myself in a large room with no lights. Just as I was about to leave, I heard water running. When I turned around, I saw a blue screen made of water. And three faces.”

“The Three Aspects.”

Xu Lian nodded. “Jeep never saw them, but he heard them discussed enough for me to be able to guess who they were. They told me the four of you had been reincarnated, like me. That I would need to find you as soon as I was old enough, and finish our mission. They told me to come back when I was twenty, and in the mean time learn all that I could that would help. You can imagine what a seven year-old would think about that.”

Sonhador smiled. “Must’ve been tough.”

The same rustling shrug as before. “In fact, I was quite lucky. I didn’t realise it, but my family could trace its lineage back almost to the Tang dynasty – the time the Sanzo Ikkou went west. It turned out that we had a significant hoard of lore from a time when magic was much more common than it is now.”

“You’re telling me you can do magic?”

“Only little things. No giant fireballs, no summoning. Youkai were able to use their own ki for their spells; humans have to make do with complicated spells and arrays. But I learned the art of tracking life signatures, and that’s how I found you. I also learned English and some Hindi, before I came across a the translation scroll.”

“So your perfect Portuguese…?” Sonhador raised an eyebrow, grinning. Xu Lian nodded, lips twisting.

“Is actually Mandarin.”

Sonhador shrugged carelessly. “In the face of all the rest of this impossible crap, I’m willing to buy magic. But why did the Three Aspects send you after us?”

Xu Lian shifted, leaning forward slightly so that his glasses tipped down and gave an unhindered view of his clear dark eyes. “I went back when I was twenty, and they were waiting. I seem to recall that Sanzo wasn’t overly fond of them, and I know why now. They told me, in almost as many words, that we hadn’t failed, but we hadn’t succeeded either, and that it was mostly pure luck Gyuumaou hadn’t been resurrected. And that pretty soon, someone would be trying again – by now they may have already begun. They put us back down here, or rather, they gave us the memories to go along with the souls, so we could finish what we started.”

“Talk about stingy!” Sonhador rocked backwards in disgust, making a face. And then, “But, wait a minute. They want us to stop the resurrection _again?_ We – or they, or who the hell ever – died trying last time, presumably, and we were a hell of a lot better at fighting then. I mean, I can deal with the local gangs, but serious fighting? No way. Goku would’ve wiped the floor with me in a second flat.”

“The others pointed that out as well, as in fact did I to the Three Aspects. Their answer was that the Sanzo Ikkou was fighting hordes of demons, while we will most likely only be dealing with overly-curious scientists, possibly with a militia guard. At worst, army troops. _Human_ army troops. The five of us, or four if you count out A – Sanzo, who doesn’t remember how to fight, should be able to cope. Don’t you think?”

Even without youkai strength, Goku, Gojyo and Hakkai had been fierce fighters. All of them had been strong hand-to-hand, and even if Hakkai could no longer use ki, Goku and Gojyo had extreme skill with staff weapons that had been passed on. Sonhador considered it, and a slow smile spread across his face as he met Xu Lian’s eyes. “When you say it like that…” 

Xu Lian nodded absently, shifting his weight as the amusement faded from his eyes. He separated his hands and rested one on each knee. Tilted his head slightly to the side, and spoke in a low, intense voice.

“Sonhador, a minute ago you said you presumed they died trying. You don’t remember?”

“I don’t…” Sonhador paused almost immediately, frowning, to try to put words to confused thoughts. After a second he started again, more slowly. “They’re dreams, you know? They’re all mixed up – totally random – and not too specific either. I mean, one night it’ll be playing cards and I’ll remember the exact hand, and then the next just vague feelings – hunger, or happiness, or fear. Most stuff, really, I don’t remember clearly. More impressions. Gojyo: a noisy and annoying big brother. Hakkai: quiet and hurt and tough as nails. Sanzo…” he trailed off, but Xu Lian didn’t help him and he struggled on, trying to work out the tangled knot in his head.

“I don’t… don’t remember getting to the castle. I can only remember things once I dream about them, you know? Like… like there’s a fence between me and the memories, and only the ones that’ve crossed it in my dreams – they’re the only things I can remember when I want to. And the only castle-like thing I remember is that nut-bar Kami-sama’s fun-house – I had nightmares about being suffocated by dolls for a week – but nothing else. Nothing about Gyuumaou. I – I just…” He stopped, jaw so tense it hurt, and found he had fisted his hands without noticing. 

“Yes?” The single word pulled at him just enough. It was still like speaking through gravel, pushing the words out. He forced his hands open, and stared at them like they were something foreign and unfamiliar.

“I had this other nightmare. Just once, and I hope to God I never have it again. It wasn’t anything much, just…” He swallowed, the sound ridiculously audible in the small room. “I was all alone, in the dark. And my hands were soaked in blood. All wet and sticky, just soaked. That was it, but… It was bad,” he finished in a whisper, curling his fingers up again and staring past them at the floor. “Real bad.”

There was a quiet pause, Sonhador staring at the shadows on the dirt floor. Finally, Xu Lian began again, gentle but firm.

“No one else remembers, Sonhador. Or rather, they all blank out at the same time. You haven’t dreamt about it on your own – Gojyo hadn’t either, and Hakkai only vaguely – but I have a memory aid.”

“More magic?” asked Sonhador, looking up with blunt eyes.

“Yes,” answered Xu Lian, in a neutral tone. “With it, we found that they – that is, the Ikkou, did enter Houtou Castle. They made it all the way to the throne room. And there, Ukoku Sanzo did something to the Minus Wave, and Gojyo and Hakkai and Jeep all lost their minds and the memories cut out. They must have been killed while insane. We have no idea how the resurrection was stopped, and can only assume that Ukoku and Gyokumen Koushu must have been killed by the Ikkou before they were killed themselves.”

“And you want to know what Goku remembers,” said Sonhador, flatly. 

“Yes. Don’t you?”

Bloody hands, hot and sticky, and a feeling like he had swallowed a mouthful of broken glass, like his heart had been ripped out with a jagged knife. He remembered enough of Goku’s anguish, remembered Sanzo lying on the ground with a spear in his gut, remembered him spread bloody across Goku’s knees while sand covered their feet, remembered him lying with his neck snapped in a forest clearing. Remembered awful things, things that burned like acid under his skin. None of them came close to the heart-shredding horror of wet hands in the dark. 

“He isn’t you. Whatever happened, none of it has anything to do with you. Nothing that happened could have been your fault, no failure of his is a failure of yours.”

Which, however true, did absolutely nothing to stop it hurting like it was. 

Sonhador raised his head to stare Xu Lian straight in the eye. “I’ll do it. But only if, in return, you take me to meet them.” To see the men who weren’t the men the man he wasn’t either had founded his entire life on. The men he had missed for his whole life, without ever having met.

Xu Lian reached into a pocket, and pulled out a small plastic bottle filled with dark liquid. “I would have done that anyway.”

Sonhador smiled, weakly. “Yeah, but now I don’t have to owe you for it.”

\----------------------------------------------------

Sonhador lay on his back on the straw-stuffed mattress in the corner of the house, Xu Lian sitting straight-backed on his chair. “Really, we could have waited until tonight. Now you have to sit there being bored while I snore.”

“It’s no problem. Probably the dream will be quite short. It was for both Hakkai and Gojyo, and they tell me it was for myself, as well.”

“It didn’t seem like it?”

“No,” replied the man, with the first hint of solemnity Sonhador had heard from him. “It didn’t. Now close your eyes, and concentrate on Houtou Castle.”

“Easier said than done.” He did it anyway, sighing as he closed his eyes, and tried to remember a place he had never been to.

A minute later, he was asleep.

\----------------------------------------------

“That is one creepy-ass castle.” Goku cranes his neck to stare up at the tiered levels rising out of the mist. Gojyo kicks him in the back of his knee, and he topples over backwards. Pops back up again, furious. “Hey! What the hell was that for, you rotten cockroach?!”

Gojyo rolls his eyes, tossing his cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his boot. “We’re not on a sightseeing tour, monkey. Stop rubbernecking.”

The whole place feels _wrong_. Like nails over stone, or graveyards at midnight. There are bones in the earth here at the foot of the stone outcroppings, black and festering with mould – no sun shines down to bleach them. It smells like death – not the smell of _dying_ , which is all blood and dirt and tears – but death. It’s nothing he can describe, but it’s thick as lard in the air, rotten and stomach-turning. Goku sets his jaw and says nothing; the place is bad enough without complaining about it. 

“Creepy or not, I doubt we will be able to climb those outcroppings,” says Hakkai, eyeing the strange claw-shaped stones. “And the entrance seems likely to be heavily guarded.” On his shoulder, Jeep chirps and bobs his head.

“Don’t know why I expected our luck to start now,” answers Gojyo glumly, peering into the mist. And then, gruff and serious, “Someone’s coming.” 

Goku summons Nyoi-bou and twists it into a ready grip, Gojyo beside him and Sanzo and Hakkai behind. As the shape approaches out of the thick fog surrounding the bottom of the rocks circling the castle, it resolves into not one but four figures. And then – “Kougaiji!” 

The demon prince and his followers slip out into the clear air, empty handed. Kougaiji eyes them thoughtfully, gaze finally coming to rest on Sanzo. “You’ve come to stop the resurrection?”

Sanzo doesn’t say anything, crosses his arms. Goku keeps a sharp eye on the prince. The bond between them seems so clear to him, but he’s aware it isn’t to Kougaiji, and right now the youkai prince has the advantage.

“Gyokumen Koushu has been very tight-lipped about the process,” continues Kougaiji after a moment. “But on hearing of your imminent arrival she finally showed her hand. It seems that to break an enchantment as powerful as the one on my parents, a sacrifice is required. A life; that of a blood relative, in fact.” Kougaiji’s lip turns in disgust; behind him Yaone’s hand tightens on Lirin’s shoulder.

Goku’s eyes widen. “You mean –”

“I mean,” says Kougaiji, “That anyone who takes up arms against my sister is my enemy, regardless of their goal. And anyone who tries to kill her can expect nothing but death from my hand. We came out to escort Lirin away from the castle. But we’re going back in now to settle things with that bastard Ni, and Gyokumen Koushu. If you want to come, you’re welcome.”

Sanzo snorts. “That’s my line. Do as you please.” He strides forward, pushing past Goku and Gojyo. And then, when they don’t follow immediately, “Well, are you bastards coming? I didn’t drag you all the way here to do this on my own.”

Goku grins, and runs after him.

\-------------------------------------------------------

Fighting, long and hard and gruelling in small corridors and rooms filled with chains and glass beakers and chemicals. Gojyo cursing, Sanzo shooting, Hakkai laughing. Jeep flying in tight circles overhead. Nyoi-bou singing in his hands. 

Somewhere along the way, they lose track of Kougaiji and his followers.

\-------------------------------------------------------

There’s a spear whistling down towards him, and he can’t block and _oh shit oh shit_ – and then its shaft is snapped in half by a precise blast of ki, both ends whirring off harmlessly. 

“Thanks, Hakkai!”

“Don’t mention it.”

\-------------------------------------------------------

Some bastard with green hair tackles Gojyo to the ground, the kappa elbowing him in the gut to no effect. Goku extends Nyoi-bou across the corridor, braining the thug with pin-point accuracy; he drops flat onto Gojyo.

“Ha, serves you right, stupid kappa.”

“Oh ho, aren’t you high and mighty?”

\-------------------------------------------------------

Sanzo, standing with his back against a wall, firing five consecutive shots into a mob and then stopping to reload with a terse face but utterly steady fingers. Goku slams into the nearest pair of youkai, breaking the first’s ribs and knocking him down on top of the second. Sanzo only spares him a glance, just a flash of clear violet in the chaos.

Goku smiles and spins around to round-house the bastard behind him in the face.

\-------------------------------------------------------

The throne room is huge. Sitting at its head, half-hidden behind metal scaffolding, is the sealed Ox-King. Standing in front of him, wearing a silk robe and with impeccably-styled hair, is the woman who started this whole stupid journey – Gyokumen Koushu. To her left are a couple of scientists, a woman in a lab coat and a bent-backed man wearing goggles. To her right is Ukoku Sanzo, smiling.

There’s no point in talking. They all know why they’re here. And Sanzo wants Ukoku dead, wants it so much Goku can feel it in his own bones; the tension is like ants crawling inside them. Goku shifts his grip on Nyoi-bou and charges; in that instant Ukoku springs like a hare, flipping over their heads and landing on the far side of the room. Goku skids to a stop and swivels so sharply his boots squeak; Sanzo’s already shooting. And then Goku’s charging again, and the man is moving, and _damn he’s fast_.

Even with all four of them fighting, with bullets and ki blasts and the slicing sickle and Nyoi-bou, he dodges. Doesn’t just dodge, _fights back._ Breaks Gojyo’s arm, and sweeps Hakkai’s legs out from under him. Slams Sanzo’s skull back into the wall so hard he slumps. At which point Goku nails him in the ribs with his staff, and he goes down next to some sort of instrument panel. 

And, behind them, a calm voice announces, “Too late.”

Goku turns, sees a flash of white out of the corner of his eye as Sanzo shoves away from the wall and strides forward.

Gyokumen Koushu is standing on the very centre of the scaffolding, directly in front of Gyuumaou. Lying in a heap at her feet is Lirin, blonde hair shining bright in the incandescent lighting; in the background are a pair of grinning youkai who weren’t there a minute ago. 

“What are you –”

A knife flashes, and red rains down on the intricate gold circle on the floor below. Goku stumbles to a stop. Somewhere to his left, Gojyo gasps. 

Behind him, Sanzo’s voice rings out, and he turns to it like a kite in the wind; “Ukoku, you _bastard_ –”

Goku keeps turning, in time to see the man pulling something on the panel. “Surprise,” he says, smirking.

And the world goes red.

\-------------------------------------------------

The bed’s hard, and cold. There’s a warm weight resting against the top of his head; it’s familiar and comforting. The air smells like blood. His hands are warm.

Goku frowns at the contradictions, and opens his eyes. 

He’s not in bed. He’s lying on his side on a metal floor, in a big room. Huge, with a high ceiling and full of weird machinery and wires. One entire wall is taken up with a hulking shadowy thing; he can’t make any sense out of its shape. In front of it, a row of scaffolding has been set up. There are three people lying on it, not moving. No. Three bodies. One in white, with dark skin and a blonde pony tail. One in a purple robe, with no head. One in green, an arm tangled in the wire of the railing – Goku sits up, throat closing all at once, so hard he chokes for breath.

Hakkai. Hakkai, lying above a pool of blood nearly as long as he is. Goku sucks in a desperate breath, fingers digging into cold metal. Something to his right catches his eye, and he turns. 

Another group of three: a woman in a lab coat that’s no longer white, a short man all twisted up like clay, and Gojyo on his back with a knife sticking straight up out of his chest. None of them are moving. Goku pants, chest so tight it’s like it’s been crushed, like he’s been buried by a rockslide. A thin sound makes it through his throat; he doesn’t recognize it. Turns, again.

To his left, Ukoku Sanzo is lying by his machine, with a smile on his face and his chest a red mess. Nearby, a tiny white dragon is lying in a crimson puddle.

He only realises he’s crying when his vision starts to blur. Reaches up to wipe away the tears; it does no good at all.

He doesn’t want to look. He doesn’t. He can’t. Can’t look at what’s right in front of him, can’t face it, can’t can’t _can’t_. If he doesn’t look, it won’t be true. If he doesn’t know, it hasn’t happened. If he turns away _right now_ , Sanzo will still be alive. Except that he won’t be. Never again. Never never never.

Lying right in front of him, hand outstretched and face a portrait of gentle resignation, is Genjyo Sanzo. Genjyo Sanzo, whose stomach – whose stomach – all over the – so much – 

Oh gods, his hands are red. Red, red, red _red_ – 

Goku screams. Screams until his throat feels full of broken glass, screams until he can’t breath, screams until he chokes. He collapses on his side, head resting against Sanzo’s hand. It’s cold now. He reaches up for it anyway, presses it into his hair and sobs.

After a while, he stretches his hand out without looking. Finds the Smith & Wesson, sticky fingers closing on cold steel. 

He doesn’t deserve it. He deserves worse. He knows exactly what he deserves. But he doesn’t want to leave. Wants to stay here. Can’t leave Sanzo.

He presses the barrel to his temple. Twitches his finger.

Bang.

\----------------------------------------------------

Sonhador snapped awake with a shout, sitting up so fast his tailbone slammed into the hard floor through his thin mattress. He was crying, he realised as he sucked in a breath. Tears were running down his face; his throat was thick with them. 

He looked up slowly, and saw Xu Lian watching him with pained eyes. 

“He killed him,” he said softly, turning his hands over to stare at them, almost expecting them to be warm and sticky. “He – I mean, it wasn’t him, but – oh God – Sanzo – ” He reached up to rub at his chest. It hurt. Hurt _so much_. Like his chest had been crushed, and he'd never, ever be whole again.

“I hoped it wouldn’t be that; that it would be anything else. And afterwards…” Xu Lian dropped his head.

Sonhador wiped at his tears with the back of his hand, voice gritty. “He just… just wanted to die. He was afraid he wouldn’t. Can you imagine? Afraid he _wouldn’t_ die.”

“Afraid of Mt. Gogyou?”

Sonhador shook his head, slowly. “No. I mean, maybe a bit. But mostly? He just didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want to leave them. Didn’t want –” His voice broke and he stopped and cursed, wiped at his eyes again. 

“Didn’t want to leave him,” finished Xu Lian quietly. “Sanzo would have killed him for that.”

“Well Sanzo was too damn slow, wasn’t he?” snarled Sonhador, standing, buoyed by sudden anger flaring inside him like a phosphorous match. It was so hot he felt he’d burn up in the tiny room, that he’d suffocate in the heat of his own rage.

Two steps took him to the door, and he was out of it before the other man could protest. Around the side in a heart-beat to the crate positioned there and up on the roof in a further two, where he dropped down into a tight cross-legged slouch and tried to catch his breath through the block in his throat. He was sweating as well as crying, raised a hand to wipe away both, and realised as he did so he half-expected his fingers to brush against a golden diadem. Finished the gesture with a gruff curse, arm flung out to the side.

Goddamn Xu Lian, coming here and dredging that crap up. Goddamn Sanzo, saving his stupid fucking monkey. Goddamn Goku, dementedly strong and so painfully weak. Goddamn all of them, for hurting him like this. 

Goddamn _him_ , for needing them. 

In the dark sky over the black expanse of sea, white light flashed in thick clouds for an instant. The growling boom came five seconds later. It would rain soon, good and hard to make up for the past week’s drought. 

Sonhador let out his sigh in a snarl. It wasn’t his problem. What the hell was it to him, what had happened 1500 years ago? Why should he hold out for friends that weren’t his, with a whole town of people he liked around him? 

Why did he still call for Sanzo, a man he had never met? A man who had been dead for 1500 years. A man his past self had killed. 

Another flash of lightning and crack of thunder, only three miles away now. He could smell the rain now, sweet and prickling. Could hear it in the city below, the sound like a blade slicing through thousands of stalks of dry grass. It would be here in a few seconds.

Why had he always lived in the past, rather than the present?

The rain came, pelting down like thousands of arrows, drenching him to the skin in an instant.

Because this wasn’t enough. These people weren’t enough. This life wasn’t what he wanted, not when he knew what was out there. Who was out there. 

Rage cooled simply as a hot iron buried in a water trough, Sonhador hopped down off the roof onto the already-muddy street and slipped back into the shelter of his home. Xu Lian stood as he entered, looking uncertain for the first time since he had arrived.

“I’m in,” Sonhador said, without prelude, eyes sharp as knives. 

Xu Lian nodded, and held out a hand. Sonhador took it, and shook it hard. Above them, a thousand drummers were pounding on the tin roof. Sonhador grinned, wryly, and felt the tension slip away.

“But, we’d better wait for the rain to stop before we go.”


	2. The Dragon

The rain painted the world white for nearly half an hour, temporarily turning streets into rivers and stairs into waterfalls. And then, clouds exhausted, it stopped almost as quickly as it had started, petering out in less than a minute. In its wake the city seemed cleaner and quieter and, for a few minutes, the air smelled fresh. Sonhador propped the door open to let the breeze in and stood staring out at the darkness, taking deep breaths. Beyond the black rows of favela homes the city glowed like a gem, warm light trapped by the clouds above.

“I think it would be best to stay in a hotel downtown tonight,” suggested Xu Lian, standing and stretching his long legs. “You could get ready for the flight, and it would give me a chance to pick up some warmer clothes for you. I would have done so earlier, of course, but I didn’t know your size.”

Sonhador turned, cocked his head. “I’ve got some warmer clothes,” he said. And then, smiling awkwardly, “But I guess that’s not really what you meant,” he added, looking down at the faded, torn shirt and jeans that served as one third of his outfit.

“No,” agreed Xu Lian, and for a moment the calm capability surrounding him flickered and revealed the uncertain young man below. 

“I can’t pay you, you know. I mean, I’ve got some money, but...” 

“It’s not a problem, Sonhador.”

He grimaced, running a hand through his tangled hair. “Clothes, maybe, but a plane ticket? That’s too big for me to take – and too big for me to repay.”

“I understand, but it’s not a problem.” Xu Lian slipped a hand under his coat and pulled out a thin black wallet. Slipped something thin and gold-coloured from it, and raised it to flash at Sonhador. “Is this familiar?”

“A credit card?” And then, memory raising a sharp flag, “The Three Aspect’s gold card?!”

Xu Lian smiled, and tucked the card and wallet away again. “So. No problem. After all, the gods can’t expect us to pay our own way to save the world.”

“Well, I guess that makes sense,” said Sonhador, shaking his head in amusement. “About as much sense as us being sent at all, anyway.”

“Exactly.” Xu Lian shifted, straightening and glancing around in an unmistakable prompt: time to go. “Is there anything you need? Anyone to say goodbye to? We may be gone a while.”

Sonhador didn’t bother to check. “You can’t take nothing. As for the rest…” he leant against the doorframe, picking up the pipe and twirling it absently in one hand while staring out into the night. The light pollution filtering up from the city below silhouetted the house across from him on the narrow street, but its front was black. He knew every line of it all the same, just as he knew every twist of the uneven street, every man, woman and child who lived within two blocks of him. 

It should have meant something. Should have been important, should have been _everything._

But in the end, it meant less then five men he didn’t know. How could that be right? 

Because, he knew now on the verge of leaving it, he had never really lived here. Never really cared, never really loved. 

He had never lived anywhere but inside his head.

“Yes?” asked Xu Lian quietly.

Sonhador looked back over his shoulder, eyes alone glinting in the poor light, and gave a pained smile. “Around here? Probably, they’ll think I was just a dream.” 

\----------------------------------------------------

Xu Lian had apparently booked the hotel room in advance. Situated in the downtown core, the hotel was a concrete high-rise reaching up for the smoggy sky in the centre of blocks of bright, expensive shops. The inside was all glass and mirrors, so that when they entered the lobby it seemed filled with a dozen Sonhadors and Xu Lians. The clerks behind the desk watched him suspiciously, eyes flickering first to the pipe resting on his shoulder, then to his ragged clothes and dirty skin. He ignored them.

The room was on the eleventh storey, elevator dinging cheerfully when they arrived. The floor was covered in a plush wine-coloured carpet, the walls painted a soft cream; it all spoke of downplayed opulence. Sonhador followed Xu Lian down the hall and into the room, opened with a flat plastic card rather than a key. It was larger than his home, and the wide expanse was packed with furniture – two beds, a table with chairs, a big stuffed armchair, a bed-side table. The two side walls were decorated with colourful paintings and several big mirrors. The opposite one was taken up by a nearly floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the bright city lights shining like a whole host of multi-coloured beacons in the night. Sonhador stood in the doorway, and was glad for his memories – they kept him from gawking.

Xu Lian stopped and turned around in front of him in the room’s narrow entranceway. “I thought I could go out and get some clothes for you, and anything else you need, while you get ready.”

Which, Sonhador knew, was a polite encouragement for him to have a good wash. He nodded. “Sure; whatever you think’s best. I don’t need anything for myself.”

Xu Lian slipped the key card into his pocket. “Alright. I should be back in an hour or two.”

Sonhador stepped aside to pull off his only pair of shoes, uncomfortable and unfamiliar on his feet, as the Chinese man walked past him and out the heavy door. When it had shut with a quiet click, he turned slowly to contemplate the gleaming bathroom with a grim look. This was going to take a while.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

Running water in the favela was limited to those who had been able to pipe a line off from the official water supply. Hot water was limited to what could be heated over a fire. Sonhador had never bathed in either. The steady hot stream of water at any desired temperature from scalding to icy would have been an unbelievable luxury, if not for the old memories telling him what to expect. A lot of the time, missing better days wasn’t only about insubstantial things like love and friendship.

It took him nearly an hour to scrub the dirt from his skin, nails and hair, even with the bars of pristine white soap and bottles of sweet-scented heavily-foaming shampoo. His skin and scalp were throbbing by the time he finally turned off the taps and stepped out of the bathtub into the steaming room. Fluffy white towels, wide and soft, were waiting on chrome bars for him to dry himself off with. He did, wrapping one around his hips, and then stepped over to inspect the contents of the little plastic-wrapped containers in the basket on the bathroom counter. Several he discarded as useless – nail file, shoe-shiner, shower-cap – but in one was a folding comb and in another a little sewing kit. He set the sewing kit aside for later, and took the comb out into the main room.

The beds were both taller and softer than those Goku had been used to finding in Tenjiku’s inns, and Sonhador sunk gingerly down onto the end of one, bouncing experimentally. His bare feet, the bottoms sensitive without their usual layers of grit and calloused skin, sunk soundlessly into the thick carpet. 

Even with the memories, it still felt strange. Worse than strange, felt _wrong_ . Like he had tumbled into another life – _his_ other life. It was what he had always wanted – to wake up one day and find that his life, _this_ life, was a dream. That he was Son Goku, dreaming of Sonhador, and not the other way around. This was the closest he would ever get to it, and now that it was happening it felt wrong. Felt alien and cold, like he was watching himself through a mirror and everything was the reverse of normal.

He shook his head, damp hair brushing over his naked shoulders making him shiver. It was just the suddenness of it all, the shock of walking away from 19 years at the drop of a hat. Surely. And maybe, just a little, the fact that somewhere out there the other three were waiting. That Sanzo was waiting. And, knowing what he knew now – Sonhador shook his head again, ignoring the curdling feeling in his gut, and resolutely turned towards the mirror. He began combing out the tangled mess that was his hair from the bottom up, and focused entirely on that.

Mirrors weren’t uncommon in the favela, but they were generally small, chipped and dirty. The one hanging on the wall across from him was the size of a small table, and the glass was flawless and clean. Sonhador watched himself combing his hair: a thin boy with strong shoulders, nut-brown skin criss-crossed by pale scars, with dark brown eyes staring out from under uneven bangs. His hair, right now pulled over his shoulder to make it easier to comb, usually fell to nearly the bottom of his shoulder-blades simply because he rarely took the time to cut it. Xu Lian had been right; apart from the colour of his hair and its tendency to stand on end when short, he bore little similarity to Goku. 

He had only worked half-way up to his scalp when the door clicked and Xu Lian entered, both arms weighed down with large bags. Sonhador stopped with the comb knotted in his hair and stared as the man set his purchases down and bent to carefully take off his black leather shoes, setting them at a right angle against the wall. He looked up to see Sonhador watching him, and smiled slightly.

“Ah, I picked up a few things.” He grabbed the bags and came over to place them on the bed beside the Brazilian.

“Looks like it,” answered Sonhador slowly, watching with wide eyes as the bags were upended and a pile of colourful clothes tumbled out. The contents were mostly shirts, but there were also a few pairs of pants, two sweaters of different weights, a thin plastic coat, socks, underwear, a pair of stout hiking boots and a dark duffel bag.

“I didn’t know what colours you liked, but thought you probably wouldn’t have any strong preferences,” Xu Lian said, separating the clothes by type. 

“That’s fine,” said Sonhador, still shocked by the profusion. “But, uh, I don’t really need that many…”

“I must admit, I have no idea what laundry facilities in India are like. Besides, I doubt we’ll have the time to stop to wash our clothes in any case.” He began packing them into the duffel bag, setting the boots on the ground. “These might be a little big; I just took my best guess and tried to err on the large side.”

“Right,” said Sonhador, weakly. The only shoes he had ever owned were flipflops and didn’t come in sizes. The clothes on the bed beside him, while nothing especially fancy, were all of thick fabric with neat hems and good lines. He had never owned so much in his life.

Sonhador went back to combing his hair, working at his bangs now and pulling the teeth through the knots in short, sharp tugs. After a few minutes, he glanced up at his reflection in the mirror. A thin boy with long unkempt hair that even when combed would look like a rat’s nest. He couldn’t help but think that probably, Goku hadn’t looked all that different when Sanzo found him. A pathetic, dirty orphan. He set his jaw, and turned to the man beside him.

“Hey, uh, do you have any scissors?”

Xu Lian glanced at him, halfway through folding a shirt. “No, but I have a knife. Why?”

He held up a lock of hair; it trailed down nearly to his shoulder. “I… thought maybe I should trim it. Just – ‘s not exactly tidy now, is it? ‘Sides, like you said, we’re not gonna have a lot of spare time and I’ve never been much good about combing it.” 

If Xu Lian suspected his thoughts, he didn’t say anything. After a quick glance he just nodded, and then went back to packing away the shirts he had in his hands. “Of course; I’m sure I can borrow some from the front desk. Just tell me when you’re ready.”

“Might be a while,” muttered Sonhador, turning back to the tangle at hand with a deep frown. Xu Lian started separating and rolling the socks.

\-------------------------------------------------------

In fact, it was almost half an hour before he had finally worked the final knot out, teeth set against his impatience and knees bouncing against the end of the bed. When he finished, he threw the comb back at the bed and leapt up to walk around and stretch his arms. “That took _forever!_ ”

Xu Lian was sitting on the other bed reading, having gone through his own bag and made a trip downstairs. He looked up. “Finished?”

“Finally!” agreed Sonhador. And then, only now aware of the lengthy silence between them, “Sorry about that. Guess I’m not too good at talking while I’m doing other stuff.” Hard concentration had never come easy to him.

“It’s fine. I spend most of my time alone, reading. Just being in the company of others is a huge improvement.” 

“Sounds super boring.”

“Sometimes. Mostly, I don’t mind. I like reading, and I like theory – especially of spellwork. The practical always gives me cricks in my neck, though.” Xu Lian reached up with a sigh to rub at the back of it.

“It does sound nice, in a way. I can count the books I’ve read on one hand. Goku probably read more than me.” He didn’t mean it to come out sounding as bitter as it did.

Xu Lian glanced up, eyes soft. “Maybe I’m just making up for lost time. I don’t think Jeep _could_ read. He certainly never tried.” 

Sonhador smiled. “Thanks. You’re a good guy, Xu Lian.”

“Really? Funny…” Xu Lian canted his head to the side, glasses catching the lamplight for a moment and flashing white.

“What?”

“Quinn – Hakkai – told me that when he met me. Before that… it’s not something I’ve heard often.”

Sonhador snorted. “Yeah, well. People aren’t so good at seeing what’s right in front of them, y’know?”

Xu Lian nudged up his glasses, but behind his hand Sonhador could see his eyes – soft, and pained. “Sometimes, I think things would have been much easier if we had all met much earlier.”

“Only sometimes?” asked Sonhador light-heartedly, trying to return the earlier favour. Xu Lian laughed quietly. 

“Well. This way has probably saved a lot on broken pottery.” He sat up, and fished a flip-blade out of his bag. “Did you want it trimmed? I can’t guarantee a good job.”

Sonhador glanced across at his image in the mirror; long hair hanging down dog-like, uneven and scruffy. “I don’t think it could get any worse than it already is.”

“Alright, then.” 

\-------------------------------------------------------

It probably wasn’t surprising that, even without his dictating, Xu Lian cut his hair into something of a Goku-style. At the back it was as close against his skull as the desk scissors could reasonably make it, while the top was longer – it was only partially dry, and already standing up. His bangs, though, Xu Lian had cut short at his request – he had no idea how Goku had managed with hair constantly in his face, but he wasn’t about to put up with it. 

“I’ve booked us a flight – we’ll be leaving early tomorrow morning. We’ll fly to Portugal, and from there to India. It will be a long trip, I’m afraid,” explained Xu Lian apologetically as he pulled an old shirt over his head. While Sonhador was familiar with the idea of sleeping in different clothes, he found that he wasn’t used to it in practice, and didn’t bother to put on anything.

“Not as long as two years,” answered Sonhador, grinning. And then, “But, wait – I don’t have any papers. Nothing to let me in and out of the country, never mind get me to another continent…” He trailed off, largely ignorant of the procedures for distant travel. He had never been outside the Fortaleza area, let alone Brazil.

“That’s not a problem. I brought some along for you.” Xu Lian pulled up his coat, and dug a small dark blue book with a gold emblem out of the inside pocket. He tossed it across the bed to Sonhador, who caught it awkwardly; it was both cool and very light in his hands. The gold letters on the front proclaimed it to be a Brazilian passport. He flipped it open, fingers slipping on smooth pages. Inside were several blank pages, and one with rows of small text. Name, date of birth, height, weight. A photograph of a tanned boy who was definitely not him. The name read Goku Son.

“Sorry about the name and picture; I didn’t have yours, obviously. I thought you would at least respond to Goku.”

Sonhador nodded, uncertain. “That’s okay, but this picture isn’t of me.”

“I’ll make sure that anyone who looks at it only sees you.” He sighed. “Getting that to work was another major neck-crick.”

“You know, Xu Lian, you really are pretty awesome.”

Xu Lian flushed slightly, and turned to pull down the covers on his bed. “Well. Years of study, and all that.” 

“So tomorrow we’re going to India. All in one day. I… can’t really believe it, you know?” He set the passport down on the bedside table, and gingerly pulled down the heavy blanket on his own bed. Two unfamiliar concepts, at least for Sonhador. The sheets were soft and clean against his well-scrubbed skin; Goku’s memories of good beds didn’t live up to the reality.

“I know. I think Jeep often wished he could have been something faster. Although the idea of Hakkai piloting a plane has frankly always disturbed me.”

Sonhador laughed, turning over to further enjoy the crispness of the sheets. 

Xu Lian reached out a hand to the beside table, putting his glasses down with a clatter. “Do you mind if I turn out the light? I’ve set an alarm.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

The light went out with a click, leaving them in thick inky darkness except for the glowing numbers of the bedside clock. Bright demonic red, they made the hair on the back of Sonhador’s neck stand on end, and he tried to avoid looking at them.

There was a long, quiet pause. Xu Lian lay still in his bed, his low breathing barely audible. Sonhador turned to lie on his stomach, and then back again. Hammered his head into the soft pillow, and tried to relax.

“Can’t sleep?”

Sonhador startled; in the dark, Xu Lian’s voice was unfamiliar. 

“I, uh… kinda. ‘S just weird, you know?” Every single thing about the situation was strange, was almost ridiculous. In a day, maybe less, he would meet people he knew better than anyone else and yet had never met. People who felt the same way about him, presumably. Tomorrow, he would be on another continent, in a country he had only heard of a handful of times. Tomorrow, he would be on his way to stopping Gyuumaou’s revival. Again.

In a day, he would be playing the part of someone he wasn’t.

“In just about every way possible, I imagine.”

“Y-yeah. I mean… it’s what I always wanted, y’know? And now that it’s happening… I should be happy. Should be _thrilled_ . But I just… don’t know. It feels like a lie. Like I’m riding on someone else’s ticket.” He fisted his hands in the blanket, fabric heavy and foreign under his fingers. 

“No one expects you to be anyone but who you are. You’re not Son Goku. We know that.”

“But –”

“You’re your own person,” cut in Xu Lian in a steady voice before his doubt could build up steam. “Maybe you’re who Goku would have been, if he’d lived your life – that’s what Hakkai thinks. Of course, part of who you are was probably influenced by his memories, and maybe part of you was influenced by his soul – who knows. I never had time to study reincarnation theory; just had to take it for granted. If Sanzo had his memories, maybe we’d know more. All I know is: although we may be similar to them, we’re all still our own selves. And none of us will ever expect otherwise. You won’t disappoint anyone, Sonhador.”

Sonhador swallowed. “You’re… pretty good at this.”

“After my fourth time meeting someone from the past? I’d be a terrible learner if I weren’t. But it’s true. We’re all the same, and we all know what to expect. That helps. And we all only want the best for each other – that helps, as well.”

In the other bed, Xu Lian shifted. In the wall, the air conditioning unit shut off abruptly, and the room suddenly seemed more silent.

“What are they like?” Sonhador asked quietly, turning to lie on his side and face the other man’s bed and keeping one eye closed to avoid the glare of the clock. There was a considering pause.

“They’re… quite a lot like they were… more so in their interactions with each other than alone. Maybe that’s because there are two sets of memories influencing their actions, rather than just one. Quinn – Hakkai – is quiet and thoughtful, probably to hide the fact that he’s really watching everything very closely. He’s not quite so...” Xu Lian paused, searching for a word, then gave up, “ _relaxed_ as Hakkai liked to seem, not so good at wearing masks, but that’s probably not a bad thing. He studied ancient Chinese poetry in university and did very well at it – of course, he didn’t let on that to him it was pretty much contemporary Chinese poetry. 

“Rob – Gojyo – is outgoing and talkative when he wants to be. The life of the party, as long as he feels like it, but pretty serious under it all. He’s got less to hide than Gojyo did, and he’s a bit less flamboyant because of it – less fighting, less flirting. Which may be just as well, since otherwise Quinn would probably strangle him in his sleep. The two of them together – well, they’re good for each other. They haven’t had easy lives this time around, either, but they found each other earlier at least.” Xu Lian paused for a moment, voice bitter when he spoke about their difficulties. When he picked up again, though, it was in the previous considering tone. 

“Ansgar… is about as close to Sanzo as you could imagine, really, considering he doesn’t seem to remember anything at all about him. Maybe a bit more laid-back, and much less hurt. But he doesn’t have a high tolerance for idiocy, or irritants, or … well, mostly anything, really. He’s less vocal about it, but he can stare anyone straight into silence.” Another shift as the man lay back.

Sonhador smiled softly. “They sound like fun.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“Xu Lian?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

Sonhador lay back, relaxing into the mattress, and closed his eyes. “Dunno. Everything, really. Just, thanks.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------

It’s a hot afternoon, and Goku’s up in the persimmon trees. The fruit won’t be ripe for months, and anyway Sanzo says he can’t pick them, but if he stays on the ground too long the monks come and chase him away. So today he’s skylarking while Sanzo reads some dusty old scrolls inside, scrambling up trunks wider than him and leaping from branch to branch while racing dragonflies. The air smells of summer, of warm dirt and green leaves. Inside, he can hear the low background hum of monks sweeping and ringing gongs and chanting. 

There are three different kinds of dragonflies out to play with today. The fat red ones skim lazily through the air, short stubby bodies drooping from wide wings, stopping often to rest on leaves and branches. The small black ones dart back and forth while hovering level, bodies thin as a brush-stroke and wings like tiny slivers, their sharp motions drawing a series of straight lines like a cat’s cradle in the air. The long blue ones, bodies thin and bright as the canals of Chang’an with big heads and long shapely wings, skim along through the courtyard in tireless search of meals. It’s them that he chases, bounding through trees older than many of the temple buildings and diving through the space between them in an endless game of tag. 

The dragonflies start to disappear when the air begins to cool, sun dropping low against the horizon. Goku’s stomach is rumbling, and he knows that inside Sanzo is probably finished with his reading. He waves to the last of the dragonflies as it swoops off towards wherever it calls home, and bounds out from of the centre of the persimmon tree he’s currently in. Twists laughing in the air and kicks his legs out in a wide split – _rrriiiip_ .

Goku drops to the ground, startled, and glances around behind him. There’s no one there. He blinks, and then shrugs. Grins, and runs off to find Sanzo.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

Sanzo is, as usual, in his office. Or at least, there’s a newspaper raised in front of his chair, with a stream of smoke rising from behind it. 

“Hey, Sanzo, is it dinner time? I’m super hungry!” He closes the door and pads in, nose twitching slightly at the sharp scent of tobacco.

The newspaper rustles. “Haven’t you learned the schedule here yet, monkey?”

“But Sanzooo, I’m hungry! I was runnin’ around _all day_ !”

“Which is your fault, not mine.” Sanzo puts the newspaper down anyway; Goku breaks out in a smile and scampers over towards the bathroom to wash his hands in preparation for eating. 

“Oi, Goku.”

Goku stops halfway into the bathroom and pivots around. “Yeah?”

“What happened to your pants?”

“Huh?” Goku glances down, then twists his spine to try to get a look at the back of them. He can just barely see something, and starts spinning to try to get a closer look – spins around in a full circle twice and then, dizzy, trips and falls flat on his face. “Owww.”

Sanzo stares down at him with a twitching mouth. “Stupid money. The seat’s ripped. What did you do, catch it on something?” 

“Huh?” Goku frowns, and then the answer hits him like a ball to the face. “Oh! I jumped out of a tree!” He glances back again, and can now see that there’s a long tear in the fabric near the centre seam. Sanzo sighs.

“Great. It was hard enough finding some spare clothes for you in the temple the first time,” he says, reaching up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “Now we’ll have to go into town and buy some. My budget doesn’t have room in it for this.” 

“Sorry,” says Goku, rubbing at the back of his head. “I guess I could wear some robes for a while,” he adds slowly, working hard to conceal his feelings on the matter.

Sanzo stands up abruptly and turns to look out the window behind him, arms crossed in front of him and smoking hard. After a minute, he looks around again as if surprised. “Well? Go change your pants already. We’re going to the night market.” 

“B-but your bud – money…” Goku stumbles over the unfamiliar word and skips to an easier one.

Sanzo frowns, staring past him at the wall. “If the skinflints here can’t accommodate clothes for a midget, they can find themselves a new priest to do their dirty work.” His eyes flicker back to Goku, and he raises his eyebrows pointedly.

“R-right!” Goku beams, and then runs off to find his other pair of pants. 

\-------------------------------------------------

Goku’s only been to the night market once before, when Sanzo took him on a local job. Usually the priest goes to bed too early, before the market stands have even started to close down oftentimes. 

It’s even more exciting than he remembers, full of delicious smells and amazing food. There are bright lanterns above, and people selling all sorts of neat things: live animals, musical instruments, bright fabrics, stone and metal jewellery, coloured paints and dyes, makeup and perfume, wooden carvings, woven baskets. All kinds of things Goku’s never seen at the temple, full as it is of shiny relics and huge statues and ancient vases. 

Sanzo walks through the crowd with his usual no-nonsense attitude, paying no attention to the stands. After several minutes of Goku whining at him, though, he stops to buy some sticky buns and skewers of barbequed chicken, unfolding bills from a roll with sharp movements and handing them to the nearly-quavering stall owner. Sanzo doesn’t come down into the city a lot, but he’s famous all the same. Goku can see it in people’s eyes when they look at him, can read it in the way the crowd unconsciously parts for him. He’s not sure whether they respect the priest or fear him, or both. Knows Sanzo wouldn’t care either way. 

Sanzo veers to the side of the crowded street after a stall surrounded by birds in bamboo cages, from tiny finches to huge colourful hawks. Goku sees them staring at him with keen eyes through the bars, and looks away.

The stall Sanzo’s chosen has bamboo clothes horses set up behind it, with heaps of shirts and pants of all sizes and colours on display. “He needs two pairs of pants and five shirts,” says Sanzo to the vendor, thumbing at Goku with one hand while he draws out his bill fold with the other. Peels off several notes, and hands them over. “Here. Show him what you have. Nothing too garish.”

Goku watches as the man, glancing nervously at Sanzo, pulls down a couple of racks and lays them out on top of his trestle table. The shirts are a variety of styles, from simple t-shirts to high-necked frog-clasped formal wear, and come in a bunch of colours. Goku picks out two blank t-shirts in black and white, a blue sleeveless frog-clasp, a green long-sleeved and a finally a bright red short-sleeved button up with gold trim. The pants are less exciting, and he doesn’t take much time to choose a pair of dark slacks and a pair of jeans. The man quickly folds them up and wraps them in a sheet of cheap paper. He holds it out to Sanzo, who gives him a flat look; Goku takes pity and grabs it with a smile. “Thanks!”

“Thank you for your purchases,” says the man, bowing stiffly to Sanzo.

“Hn. Come on, Goku.” He steps back into the crowd, a path opening automatically. Goku follows along, swinging the parcel as he goes. He trots up to walk beside the priest, and glances up. Sanzo’s staring off into the distance, face set in the faint frown crowds always seem to evoke in him.

“Ne, Sanzo, thank you!”

“Just don’t rip these ones,” says Sanzo, without looking at him.

“I won’t!”

Sanzo snorts quietly. 

Goku sweeps the parcel up to hug it tightly against his chest. “For sure! I really won’t! ‘Cause you bought them for me!”

Sanzo glances down at him, slightly surprised, and Goku stares up in resolve. They continue on, Goku dodging through the edge of the crowd, bumping here and there against men and women carrying new purchases, and occasionally against Sanzo’s side.

“Some things in this world are important, monkey,” says Sanzo out of nowhere, lighting a cigarette as they approach the end of the market. The end glows bright red in the night as he draws a straight line in the air with it. “Money’s not one of them. What it gets you – shelter, food, clothes – is. Don’t confuse the two.”

“Okay, Sanzo,” he says, not really understanding. 

The very corners of Sanzo’s mouth twitch. “And don’t rip those clothes,” he repeats.

“I won’t!” Goku stomps his foot to emphasize his point. Sanzo snorts again, raises his cigarette to take a drag and then looks up towards the temple on the hill. 

“Come on, then. We’re going back.” 

“Un!”


	3. The Duo

In the end, Sonhador spent most of the flights sleeping. Xu Lian had plenty of books but none in Portuguese, and his reading wasn’t up to novels in any case. And, while the man had a music player, the slow, heavy, piano-laden songs weren’t in Portuguese or at all similar to Sonhador’s tastes towards up-beat pop. 

They spent a while in an airport in Lisbon, where the people spoke some weird dialect and even food with familiar names tasted strange. Xu Lian bought him a geographic magazine with a world map in it and left him to puzzle over the distance between Fortaleza and Delhi, and then between Delhi and Chang’an. Sonhador had never realised just how vast China was, but staring down at the map while flight announcements and passenger pages played constantly over the speaker system, Sonhador was amazed that they had ever made it that far. Goku had had no understanding of the distance or even the geography. Had only known one goal: the setting sun. It occurred to him that he wasn’t so sure he knew much more now.

Then it was back on a plane, and Sonhador went back to sleeping to avoid having to find something to do in the cramped seat for seven hours. His dreams, constantly interrupted by the flight attendants trundling by with their carts or passengers going to the bathroom or the uneven bucking of turbulence, twisted and blended into each other seamlessly.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

“Your leg’s on my side, pervy kappa!” Goku kicks at it, but Gojyo dodges and slams his own boot down onto Goku’s shin.

“Is not,” drawls the red-head, exhaling a mouthful of smoke.

“Is too, the centre line is right there!”

“Doesn’t count. I’m taller; I need more space. But a tiny monkey like you wouldn’t understand that.” Gojyo smirks.

“Don’t call me monkey! And I’m not tiny! And your leg is _on my side!_ ” Goku shoves at it again. In front of them, Sanzo stands and swivels, gun appearing in his hand as if by magic.

“ENOUGH!” _Bang!_

The two of them cower against the low benches in the back, hands over their heads. 

“WAAAUGH!”

Goku stumbles back and falls onto his ass, staring at the creepy statue he’s just turned a corner to walk right into. It’s of a monk, he recognizes vaguely as he stares up at it, but it’s nothing like the statues he’s used to. The face is twisted in a hideous scowl, furious eyes staring straight down at him, while the robes are fanned out as if by wind and both hands are raised together in what Goku recognizes as a banishing gesture. 

“Hey look, Sanzo, it’s you!” crows Gojyo from behind him, and then yelps in time with the thud of a fan. 

Goku has to admit, the angry scowl does have just a little something of Sanzo about it.

“Sometimes I think you have a death wish,” growls Sanzo.

On the ground, Gojyo groans, the grass beneath him already wet with his blood. Hakkai’s kneeling by his side, hands full of warm _ki_ shimmering with a firefly glow. Goku stands beside Sanzo, watching the shadows with sharp eyes. Between the rustling of leaves and creaking of branches, he can hear footsteps on well-packed earth and hands shifting grips on weapons.

“Well?” asks Sanzo quietly, reloading his gun.

“At least ten more,” answers Goku, Nyoi-bou ready in his hands. The breeze shifts, bringing with it the scents of three youkai hiding behind the fallen tree ahead of them.

“Then five are yours.” Sanzo finishes loading the gun and cocks it. Behind them, the first youkai leaps out. Sanzo swivels. 

_Bang!_

The lock under his hands shatters. Overhead, the ceiling is collapsing, huge chunks of stonework tumbling down on them. They sprint through the destruction, the sound of it like thunder in Goku’s ears. They shoot out of a narrow hallway into a wider room with a metal door at the end. Here, too, the roof is falling in. 

They kick and punch and shoot their way through the debris, hit the final door running and careen out into the open space beyond. All around, stained glass is shattering and wood splintering, while huge stones crash apart into gravel. 

“Get down!” shouts Hakkai, as behind them beleaguered walls finally give in and the church collapses in an explosion of dust and shrapnel. Goku’s thrown forward onto his face, and the world going dark for a minute.

When it resolves itself again, his hands feel sticky. He looks down at them. 

They’re bright red.

\-------------------------------------------------

Sonhador snapped awake, jerked forward so fast only a tight grip on his shoulder kept him from slamming into the seat in front of him. He was panting, he realised, as he dropped back slowly.

“Are you alright?” asked Xu Lian, taking back his hand. 

Sonhador reached up to rub at his eyes, taking deep breaths until his heart rate slowed. “Yeah, fine. Fine.” He shook himself and looked past the other man to the window, expecting to see clouds going past. What he saw instead made him double-take: outside the window was asphalt and grass lit by lights set in the ground. “Wha – where?”

Xu Lian smiled. “We just landed. It will be a few minutes before we reach the gate and everyone gets off; I thought it would be best to let you sleep.”

“Right,” answered Sonhador, shakily, trying to fill his mind with anything other than the memory of red. “And the others –”

“Are already here; they came in yesterday,” said Xu Lian, patiently repeating information he had already given. “Although they may be sleeping.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s just past midnight. By the time we get to the hotel it will be after one. I tried to book something near the airport, but I’ve never heard anything good about traffic in Delhi.”

“Huh,” said Sonhador, who had never heard anything at all about the traffic in Delhi. The plane came to a jerky stop, and the engines began powering down. All around them people immediately began fidgeting and chattering and then a moment later there was a rush as everyone stood at once. Sonhador hadn’t even noticed the little seat-belt sign turning off.

They took their bags – his new duffle and Xu Lian’s older one – from the cupboards overhead and transferred from the plane into the terminal, following the crowd. Customs was a brief and halting discussion which Sonhador’s few phrases of English were not at all up to, and then it was out into the main terminal building to wait for the luggage. He had insisted on bringing his pipe along. It was probably stupid – there wasn’t any shortage of metal pipes in the world – but it had saved his life more times than he could count. And somehow, its weight on his shoulder was comforting, felt almost like friendship. In the face of all this strangeness, that was coming to mean a lot. 

Outside the early fall air was warm and muggy, like that of Fortaleza but smoggier. Xu Lian hailed a taxi and, as he ushered Sonhador into the back seat, drew a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to the driver. The man nodded and pulled out into the street. 

Feet resting on his pipe, Sonhador shifted to look out the window at the thick traffic; even at midnight the highway was busy. Staring into the darkness and watching the lights flash by, he wondered how different it would look by day. Beside him, Xu Lian changed the money in his wallet and then adjusted his watch. On the cab speakers, some unintelligible music was playing; Goku had never heard anything like it, couldn’t even pick out the instruments. The interior of the car smelled of some kind of food he’d never eaten before, spicy and delicious. It was making his stomach rumble.

They spent only ten minutes in the cab before finally exiting the highway and pulling through some well-lit streets full of tall buildings. Sonhador jumped out as soon as the car stopped – he had spent more than enough time cooped up in small spaces – and into the warm night to stretch his legs with a few high kicks. Xu Lian appeared with his bag over his shoulder, waited for Sonhador to finish working out hours of cramped muscles, and then led the way up to the hotel.

The lobby here was all bright coloured silks and silver and gold edging. All the couches and pillows were upholstered in complex and amazing patterns while the walls were painted with lively scenes full of jungles and animals. Xu Lian checked in using a low voice and a language that Sonhador, apparently hanging back too far for the translation spell to pick him up, didn’t recognize at all. A white envelope was handed over, and a boy stepped up for their bags. Somewhat to Sonhador’s surprise Xu Lian immediately handed his over, and indicated Sonhador. The boy hurried over and took his duffle from his uncertain hands, then led the way to the elevator.

They were only on the 9th floor this time and the room was smaller, although again more opulent and colourful, and with an extra door in the left-hand wall. Xu Lian tipped the boy, who disappeared silently and closed the door behind him.

Sonhador stood in the entranceway, staring out the huge window at the lights beyond. Last night, they had been the lights of Fortaleza. Now… _India. Tenjiku_ , his mind provided. The name didn’t matter; it was still unbelievably surreal.

“I’ve been on three continents in one day,” he said dully, still staring. 

“It’s a bit shocking, isn’t it? You do get used to it, but really it seems like you shouldn’t.” Xu Lian was kneeling behind him, taking off his shoes.

“I never thought I’d even leave Brazil,” continued Sonhador, watching traffic lights below change colour.

“Do you want to go to sleep?”

“I mean, Fortaleza, maybe. But the country? No way.”

“Sonhador, do you want to go to sleep now?”

“Huh?” He turned, blinking, and suddenly realised he was still standing in the entranceway with his pipe over his shoulder. “Oh, uh, sure? If you do. What time is it?”

Xu Lian glanced at his watch. “1:30. Although it actually is only…” he paused, apparently calculating, “4:30 in the afternoon for you.”

“I guess that’s why I don’t feel tired at all.”

“Well, that, or the fact that you slept for nearly a day in the plane,” suggested Xu Lian, with a straight face and laughing eyes. 

“C’mon, what else was I supposed to do?” returned Sonhador, grinning. “Your music is _weird._ ”

“I can see you and Rob will get along very –”

There was a knock from the neighbouring room, and Xu Lian fell silent. They both glanced at the wall. A moment later the knock came again, and Sonhador’s ears tracked it to the door in the wall. 

“’S coming from the door,” he said, nodding at it. There was, he saw, a lock on it, which seemed pretty odd for what he had assumed was a closet. Xu Lian turned to look, and his face cleared. He stepped over and, without pausing, flipped the bolt and opened the door. From his place by the entrance, Sonhador could see that there was a light on on the other side. Not a closet, then.

From the other side of the door a low voice spoke. It was both too soft to understand and, Sonhador was fairly certain, not speaking Portuguese. It was answered by a rowdier one, all grins and bright confidence. It ended in a question.

“Yes, he’s here,” answered Xu Lian, and glanced at him. Sonhador, who had been watching curiously, stiffened so fast his neck twinged. Gojyo. Gojyo, and Hakkai, had to be. Right there, _right now_.

He had assumed tomorrow, assumed time to get ready, assumed … well, assumed _not yet_. In the face of the men on the other side of the door, Xu Lian’s assurances seemed like so much dust in the wind. What could he possibly say to them? How could he possibly be what they were expecting? How could he even handle this? When Gojyo walked around the corner and – 

There was a thump of footsteps, and a pale man with white-blond hair and light blue eyes strode sharply around the door and apparently into proximity of Xu Lian’s translation spell. “Whoa, is that him? I was expecting a shrimp!” The man’s face lit up in amusement. 

Sonhador blinked, nearly tripping backwards in his shock. “You – you – _you’re Gojyo?_ ” His skin was paler than any Sonhador had seen; so were his hair and eyes. Sonhador’s image of dark skin and bright red burst like a balloon. As did his lingering idea of towering height; the man’s colourful t-shirt and baggy pants didn’t disguise the fact that he was hardly taller or heavier than Sonhador.

“Rather shocking, isn’t it?” asked a quiet voice from behind the white-haired man; a coconut-brown hand appeared on his shoulder and pushed him forward into the room. Several inches taller than Gojyo, Hakkai had kept the sharp lines of his face, his high cheekbones and long jaw. But his bright green eyes had been replaced with brown, and black hair with short curling fuzz. 

“And _Hakkai?_ ”

“We go by Quinn and Rob now,” answered Hakkai – Quinn – with a familiar smile that twanged a chord somewhere deep in Sonhador. “And you are?”

“Sonhador,” replied Sonhador cautiously. Both men’s faces crinkled slightly.

“Ah, translation error,” said Xu Lian, and waved a hand. “Try again.”

“Uh, Sonhador?” said Sonhador again, and the confusion faded slightly.

“It translated your name; it sounds a bit strange,” explained the Chinese man. Sonhador shrugged, looking cautiously past the two men through the open door.

“That’s okay; it is. ‘S not really a name, just a description. Where’s … where’s Sanzo?”

The pale Gojyo – Rob – glanced at Quinn and raised an eyebrow. “I told you so.”

“Told him what?” asked Sonhador.

Rob grinned toothily. “That the first words out of your mouth would either be ‘I’m hungry,’ or ‘Sanzo.’” 

“Actually, they were ‘you’re Gojyo?’” pointed out Xu Lian, with a glance at Rob which his glasses hid from Sonhador. But the man’s grin faded just slightly into a more serious expression. He produced a toothpick from his pocket and put it in his mouth, began to gnaw at it.

“Ansgar is in the other room, sleeping,” said Quinn, still smiling politely. “He goes to bed early.”

“H-huh.” Sonhador kept in the sigh, but felt his muscles untensing involuntarily and his heart slowing all the same. He still had some time. 

“Were you two going to sleep soon?” asked Xu Lian.

Rob snorted. “Are you kidding? It feels like the damn afternoon. And it’s only one, anyway.” Beside him, Quinn shrugged easily. 

“Then, would you mind if I used your room for a while? The translation spell is getting a bit frayed around the edges; I need to renew it.”

“Of course,” answered Quinn, and then glanced at Sonhador. “Do you speak English, by any chance?”

Sonhador smiled awkwardly. “Not much.”

“There’s always cards,” suggested Xu Lian, picking up his bag and pressing past them into the other room. “Here,” he called, now out of sight; a deck of cards secured by an elastic came flying through the door. Rob just barely caught it. 

“Whoa.” The string of mostly incomprehensible words that followed was enough to prove that Xu Lian was too far away for his spell to keep working. Sonhador put his pipe down against the wall, ignoring the stares, and walked over to take a seat on the closer of the two beds.

“You –” he signalled shuffling the cards. Rob’s grin returned, and he sat down on the bed opposite and peeled off the elastic, while Quinn pulled up a small table and chair. 

“You know poker?” asked Rob, the cards flying between his hands with all of Gojyo’s dexterity. 

Sonhador watched him with the dull knowledge that he probably knew all the red-head’s tricks, too. He nodded anyway. “Poker? Okay.” 

“Right, then.” Setting his face into one supreme confidence, the white-haired man began to deal.

\----------------------------------------------------------

Poker didn’t require a big vocabulary, and after a few hands Sonhador had worked out the necessary phrases. A few hands in which Quinn won, Rob managed steadily, and Sonhador lost his markers – matches out of the hotel’s matchbook – like water through a sieve. 

Another hand, another loss. Sonhador tossed down his cards and collapsed back on the bed. “I can’t believe after a thousand years I’m _still_ losing to you guys!” He sat up and glanced suspiciously at the two of them. “For all I know, the two’ve you’re cheating together.”

“What?” Rob, splitting the matches into the appropriate takes, glanced up at him.

“You – he –” Sonhador frowned in concentration, and then clasped his hands together. To his surprise, Rob flushed, pale skin turning bright red and toothpick nearly slipping from between his lips. Sonhador blinked. “Eh?” and then, realised what else clasped hands indicated, and immediately separated them. “Ah, no – no.”

Sitting in the chair and shuffling the cards, Quinn started laughing quietly. Rob glared at him. “Shut up.”

Sonhador didn’t follow the conversation that ensued, but it ended with Quinn dealing the cards and smiling widely, while Rob muttered quietly to himself. “Don’t worry,” Quinn told Sonhador, glancing up over the cards. “It’s true.” 

Sonhador cocked his head on the side, but read nothing but quiet contentment in the man’s eyes. What had Xu Lian said? Not so good at wearing masks? Either he was wrong, or Quinn was happier than Hakkai had been. “Ah, I – cards,” he tried again, making sure to include the cards this time before gesturing at the pair of them.

“Ah, I understand,” said Quinn, brightly. “I think –” another long confusing sentence. Rob sat up. 

“We are not cheating!” he exclaimed.

“Sure?” baited Sonhador.

“Yeah, I’m goddamn sure!”

“Really? I find you – ” he glanced at Quinn, who helpfully provided, “Cheat.” Sonhador nodded. “You cheat.”

“I do not!”

“You cheat!” 

“Do not!”

“Yes!” 

“No!”

“Yes!”

“ _I’m not cheating, you stupid monkey!_ ” snapped Rob.

“ _Like hell, ya perverted kappa!_ ” returned Sonhador. And then stopped, staring at Rob with wide eyes; Rob’s were just as wide.

He had understood every word. Had known just how to reply, had answered without thought just like he would catch a ball or turn at his name.

“The hell’s going on?” Ron’s toothpick fell, unnoticed, to the table. He turned, not to check the door for Xu Lian, but to Quinn. Who looked surprised, but not at all confused. 

“We should have considered this earlier,” he said, speaking slowly and carefully. And Sonhador still understood every word. “Or at least, I should have.”

Rob frowned, and pressed impatiently, “What?”

“It’s how I did so well in my classes, after all. I didn’t have to read translations, I could just read the original. I always did very well in interpretation.”

_He studied ancient Chinese poetry in university and did very well at it – of course, he didn’t let on that to him it was pretty much contemporary Chinese poetry,_ Xu Lian had said the night before. 

“I don’t understand,” said Sonhador, trying to fit it together. Quinn turned to look at him with the teacher’s expression Goku had been so very used to. 

“When you dream, what language is it in?”

Sonhador blinked, frowning. “Portuguese, isn’t it? I understand it, so…”

“But that’s not what you’re speaking now. And it’s not what they spoke in Tang China.”

“What d’you mean, not speaking it now? Of course I am.”

Rob gave him a look that despite his unfamiliar face Sonhador recognized as easily as his own expressions in a mirror. “Listen with your ears, not your head,” he drawled. It was almost enough to distract Sonhador from his twitching hands and the wrinkles around his eyes. Rob wasn’t any less stunned by suddenly finding himself fluent in a foreign language than he was. 

“I always listen with my ears,” he answered peevishly. But the man was right. If he listened to the words, they were different. Were broken in different lengths and pitched in different tones than Portuguese. He could feel his brows knitting together. “So you’re saying because Goku could speak Chinese, I can too?”

“That would appear to be the case,” said Quinn calmly, settling down to shuffle the cards again.

“But – I don’t even know how I’m doing it! I can’t even tell the difference!” That wasn’t quite true, though. Now that he paid attention, he could feel it in his tongue and jaw. And the way that, in the back of his mind, his memories felt a lot closer to the surface than usual. A hundred card games, a thousand conversations with Hakkai and Gojyo, all prompting his actions. 

“I’m sure practice will help.” Quinn was staring down at the cards intently. Hakkai’s hair would have covered his eyes, but Quinn’s was too short. Short enough that he could see the uncertainty there. And knew exactly what it was, because he was feeling it too. _Just how much of me really is me?_ He had never not known before. He had never felt like he had come home while sitting with two complete strangers before, speaking a language his memory was feeding directly into his mouth without stopping to ask his brain.

“Yeah,” agreed Sonhador, weakly. Quinn began dealing the cards, and then looked up brightly.

“Well,” he said, smiling. “At least this way we’ll be able to talk.”

That, at least, was true. Sonhador managed a faint grin, and picked up his cards.

\----------------------------------------------------

“So you two found each other on your own, huh?” Sonhador glanced up from his cards, chewing his lip.

Rob shrugged. He had started on a new toothpick, and switched it to the other side of his mouth. “Pretty much. I was walking down the street one day and bam. Saw him on the opposite sidewalk and just knew, same as I knew my own name. So I ran right across, got dinged by a van, and ended up landing right in front of him.”

“A nice role reversal,” added Quinn, with a slighter smile that felt genuine.

“After that, we figured you and Sanzo were probably around somewhere and tried to keep an eye out. Never figured it’d be Jeep who turned up on the front doorstep.”

_Sanzo, knocking on the door. Gojyo answering his questions with his best poker face. Hakkai rushing to the door, eyes wide._ The memory flickered through his mind quick as the flash of light off a mirror. He blinked slowly, and looked back at his cards.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” He tossed out a couple of cards. “Two.”

\-------------------------------------------------------

“What is Fortaleza like?” asked Quinn, watching him while he dropped three matchsticks into the pile. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about it.”

Sonhador paused, taking in a deep breath. Tried to think of bland, normal facts about the city. It wasn’t something he ever thought about. While he technically lived in Fortaleza, he really lived in Palmeira. A whole different world, that they didn’t need to know about. “Well, it’s on the coast, so you can see the ocean from most of it,” he said, slowly. “People say it’s cooler than the interior, and less humid. The city’s pretty big, maybe the fifth or sixth largest?”

“That sounds very nice,” said Quinn, politely. Sonhador shrugged.

“People say so.”

“You don’t agree?”

“I don’t live in a good neighbourhood. The city? I don’t know, that’s too big for me to think about. But the people, the people are great.” 

Quinn nodded slowly, watching him with soft eyes. He grinned awkwardly, and reached up to brush his hair away from his face. 

\-------------------------------------------------------

“So what d’you do, kid?” Rob tossed out a card, and received a new one from Quinn which he frowned at. Ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair.

Sonhador glanced up from his own terrible hand. “Whaddya mean?”

“You know, work. Or school. You’re what, 20?”

He blinked. “Uh, closer to nineteen,” he said, and then immediately regretted not just picking one and rushed on to cover it up. “I don’t really do anything. I mean, not like a job. I guess… I’m a jack of all trades.” The phrase was familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Rob and Quinn glanced at each other, though, so doubtless it was Goku’s memory, not his own that recognized it. He focused on Rob. “What about you? What do you do?”

“Huh? Oh. I’m an ethical hacker.” He grinned suavely. Sonhador frowned.

“A what?”

“A hacker. You know, with computers?” The smile faltered, and he mimed typing. “Companies hire me to hack their systems, so they can figure out where to install better protection.”

“Huh. I know about them, but I don’t know what it means.”

“It means he’s a professional swindler,” said Quinn sweetly. Rob glared at him. Sonhador nodded. 

“I don’t _actually_ swindle anyone,” pointed our Rob, through narrowed eyes. Sonhador ignored him.

“So pretty much like a card sharp? And Quinn’s a teacher? You guys didn’t really try out anything new, huh?”

“Yeah, well. Stick with what you’re good at,” muttered Rob, and threw down his hand. “Fold.”

\-------------------------------------------------------

Sonhador ran out of matchsticks a little more than an hour into the game, losing his last three to Quinn’s full house. He flipped back onto the bed, sinking into the mattress, and sighed.

“I’m out. I’ve got no chance playing from memory.” Poker hadn’t figured largely in his life in Palmeira.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. You’ll get plenty more practice.” Rob grinned roguishly around his toothpick and scooped up his own markers, a considerably smaller pile than Quinn’s.

“Yeah, I bet,” replied Sonhador glumly. “Does San – uh, An…”

“Ansgar?” supplied Rob.

“Yeah, does he play?”

Rob’s grin widened, teeth flashing. “Not as well as he thinks.”

Sonhador brightened. “Well, we’ve gotta do something at night, after all. How ‘bout Xu Lian?”

“He says he’s better at mah-jongg,” said Quinn, piling the matchsticks neatly in an ashtray and placing it on the dresser.

“Huh.” Sonhador turned his head to glance at the clock on the bedside table. 3:04 am. “D’you think he fell asleep?”

“Not yet, unfortunately,” said a voice from the doorway. 

Sonhador sat up. Xu Lian was leaning against the doorframe looking tired and rubbing at the back of his neck. Rob stood and walked over to pat his shoulder light-heartedly. “Hey man, you done?”

Xu Lian sighed. “For now. And you? Quinn cleaned up again?” His eyes flitted to the full ashtray. 

“Just lucky, I suppose,” said Quinn, smiling.

“Lucky my ass,” muttered Rob.

Sonhador almost missed the flash of real humour – and something a bit more wicked – in Quinn’s face. The man stepped across and herded his partner towards their room. “You could sleep in tomorrow,” he suggested to Xu Lian as they passed. “We still don’t have a fixed destination; we won’t be losing road time.”

Xu Lian nodded, raising his hand to run it through his carefully-trimmed hair. “I’ll keep it in mind, but I doubt Ansgar will want to wait around.”

“He can spend a couple of hours meeting Son – Sonhador here,” said Rob, from deeper in the room, stumbling over the unfamiliar name.

Sonhador’s jaw clacked shut.

“Why don’t you come by and knock when you’re up tomorrow, and we’ll see,” said the Chinese man.

“Sounds good. G’night.” He poked his head back around Quinn’s shoulder to add, “Nice meeting you, Sonhador.”

Sonhador nodded, “Yeah, you too. It’s… I’m glad.”

“Good night.” Quinn turned to give him an easy grin and a wave before pulling his door closed. 

Sonhador sat, kicking his heels back against the bedside while Xu Lian closed their partitioning door and then walked over to sort through his duffel bag. He pulled out his sleeping clothes, a loose pair of pants and a faded shirt, and headed off to the bathroom. Sonhador took that as a hint to strip out of his own clothes, and climbed beneath the sheets in his underwear. Lay there staring at the ceiling while Xu Lian cleaned his teeth and washed his face. 

When the man came back he was holding his glasses in one hand and rubbing at the bridge of his nose with the other. He looked… not exactly younger without them, but less imposing. Less calculating, less sharp. Xu Lian had said only he and Quinn had called him a good guy, but the glasses had to help create a false impression of severity. Well, it wasn’t his business. 

Xu Lian put the glasses down on the bedside table and slipped into bed, turning the light out as he went. 

“Good night, Sonhador.”

“Good night.” 

Sonhador lay on his back, still staring up at the ceiling in the dark. The curtains on the window were thick, but there was a crack where they met and the tiny sliver of light was enough to let him spot the blemishes on the ceiling. A bit like stargazing, inside. He sighed.

In the other bed, Xu Lian turned over. “Are you alright?” He sounded tired, but not sleepy. Like he had been waiting. 

Sonhador, who hadn’t, blinked in surprise. “What? Yeah, fine. Fine. It… it was really great – _is really great_ – meeting them. Meeting all of you.”

“But?”

He swallowed, rubbing at his chest. It felt tight, and cold. “’S nothing. Just takes some getting used to.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

“Until now, I always knew who I was, y’know? And now… I’m not so sure. The stuff I remembered, before it was just helpful. Saved my life, helped me survive. But now… it’s telling me how to act, making me feel like I’m in a room with my best friends in the world and getting me to bicker with them like we’ve known each other for years when we only met an hour ago, telling me how to speak… Feels like… Like I’m turning into him. Like all I was for was to keep him alive until he got here, so he could take over. Like I’m not even really real.”

Xu Lian was silent for so long, Sonhador almost wondered if he’d fallen asleep. When he spoke it was in a quiet, thoughtful voice. 

“You know, I sometimes think it’s very lucky none of us ended up in an institution. I suppose it’s because we always had an easy time distinguishing our lives – reality – from the dreams. We knew they were true, knew nothing that vivid could be just our imagination. And at the same time, we always knew very clearly where the line was drawn. Never ever confused what they had done with what we were doing.” He paused, and then went on in a firmer voice.

“You aren’t Goku, and you never will be. You can choose to use his memories, to adopt his persona as much or as little as you want. His basic personality – openness, loyalty, bravery – those are things you can’t control. But his bickering interactions, or his leaving the thinking up to others, or his playfulness – those are all aspects you can and have chosen to keep or leave. I can count on my hands the number of serious conversations Goku ever had; and we’ve had at least that many just since we met two days ago. In the same way, Rob and Quinn both chose how much of Gojyo and Hakkai’s shields they wanted to use – quite a bit, really. They could have dealt with their problems with anger or resentment or fear, but they decided to use methods they knew worked.” 

“And you?” asked Sonhador, in a low tone. “Did you try to be different, or the same?”

Xu Lian snorted quietly. “Difficult to be the same as a jeep. But you’re right. Jeep never had to do anything but follow Hakkai and worry about the rest of them. He was friendly, and faithful, and very dependent. That was never an option for me – I knew I’d have to find you all on my own, at first at least, and that you could be anywhere. Dependency and subservience wasn’t a viable option.”

Which explained a lot. “Must have been hard.”

“Well, I knew it from an early age, at least. Perhaps you can’t tell, but in terms of changeable traits at least I imagine I must be pretty far from Jeep.” He didn’t sound pleased; he sounded hurt. Like he had betrayed someone. And that someone, Sonhador knew, was himself. 

It was easy to improve your past self, to decide that waiting around for others to do your thinking was something that had to change. But to go against so much of it? Sonhador tried to imagine being cold to his neighbours, or not helping someone who asked. Tried to imagine having to. It made his gut twist uncomfortably, like a nest of cold eels. 

“I think you’re more independent than he was,” said Sonhador slowly, thinking carefully. “You did all of this own your own. I don’t think any of them, except maybe Sanzo, could have done that. But your thoughtfulness, your kindness, your strength? That hasn’t changed. Jeep always looked out for them, always stayed with them even when he was in danger and couldn’t do anything. He was a great guy, and _that_ hasn’t changed – you are too. And anyone who doesn’t see that just – just isn’t paying attention.” Sonhador finished speaking more vehemently than he had meant to, sank down under the covers in embarrassment.

Xu Lian exhaled softly and shifted. And then asked, in a voice with none of his usual reassurance, “Do you regret coming?”

Sonhador opened his mouth to deny it immediately, and then stopped for a minute. When he did speak, it was with ease and surety. “No. I don’t. Everything about this is strange, and some of it worries me. The idea of meeting Sanzo scares the shit out of me. The idea that I feel comfortable with you guys not because I know you but because my memories are telling me to freaks me out. But I think – I _know_ that even if I didn’t have the memories, I’d want to have met you. And I think if I get to know Rob and Quinn, it’ll be the same there, and hopefully Ansgar too. At the bottom, who we are is different but what we are is the same, and it’s what we were that was the reason we were so close. So that’s gotta mean we can have that again, right? And that’s… something I’ve wanted as long as I can remember.” Is the _only_ thing he’s wanted for as long as he can remember.

“I see.” He could hear the faint smile in Xu Lian’s voice. “I’m glad.”

“Me too.” Sonhador lay back and closed his eyes. “Me too.”


	4. The Direction

The air’s thick with the sweet scent of green grass tinted with just a hint of hickory smoke. Off to his left, the last embers of the fire are glowing deep furnace red, scattered here and there in the charred remains of the wood like rubies in a limestone seam. All around the night birds are cooing, insects buzzing and chirping. Beneath him, the ground is uneven and hard. Less than an arm’s length away, Sanzo lies still on the same rough ground. Even with the low wind whispering in the grass and trees and the calling and shuffling of the night animals, Goku can hear the low sounds of his breathing clearly.

Sanzo hates sleeping outside, he knows – they all know. One night will make him cranky, two will make him violent, and three is better left uncontemplated. He says it screws up his back, and then Gojyo mocks him for being such an old man, but Goku does hear his bones creaking when he gets to his feet in the morning. It’s kind of useful actually: he always knows when Sanzo gets up. But he’s not stupid enough to mention that.

Gojyo and Hakkai are off somewhere, dicking around as Sanzo calls it in a muttering voice when they fade off together on occasional evenings. But he makes no real complaints, doesn’t point out that he and Goku have to stay up later keeping watches alone when they’re gone. That they come back loose-limbed and light-hearted is all that matters to Goku.

The stars are bright tonight, moon only a thin sliver lying close to the horizon. He stretches out on his back and stares up at them, draws lines between the tiny pinpricks to spell out words. Writes Sanzo’s name, his own, Gojyo’s and Hakkai’s in the stars. He never gets tired of them, could only see a tiny sliver of them from Mt. Gogyo if he lay flat on his stomach close to the door and even then watched them when he was most bored.

In the trees behind them a bird takes flight suddenly, calling “Kekekeke!” as it flaps off into the night. There’s no trace of _youki_ , no dangerous scent in the breeze, and Goku settles back on the long grass and glances over at Sanzo. His hair is pale yellow in the dim white light, robes a faint outline between the dark strokes of the grass. His eyes, Goku sees, are shining in the starlight.

“Sanzo?” he says, softly.

The priest shifts, eyes closing momentarily, and sighs. “Those idiots not back yet?”

“Nuh-uh.” The breeze ruffles through his hair, and he wraps his cape tighter around his bare arms. In the velvet sky above, the stars twinkle at him. “Hey, Sanzo?”

Sanzo doesn’t answer, but his eyes are still shining. 

“D’you think… Have the stars been there forever?”

Sanzo snorts. “The hell kind of question is that?”

“I mean… they never seem to change. I’ve been watchin’ them for a long time. They’re up there every night, just the same as always. That used to make me feel just a bit less alone, sometimes.” 

Sanzo answers without moving, drawls out the words while staring up at the stars. “Everything changes; some things just take longer than others. You should know that.”

He nods, grass brushing against his cheek. “I do. ‘S just… I don’t like to think about them disappearin’. They’re too pretty.” And too many things disappear. 

“Use your head, stupid monkey. Stars are like everything else in this world. For every death, there’s a birth.” His voice has that lecturing tone, the one that he uses less and less these days. Goku’s not sure if that’s because he has less to teach or because he thinks Goku’s old enough to learn thing on his own; he suspects the latter. 

Goku lies back, pillowing his head on the crook of his elbow. Beside him, Sanzo’s eyes close and his breathing eventually slows and evens out. Goku stills and listens, quietly content. Above them, the stars glitter. 

\-------------------------------------------------------

Sonhador was woken by a knock on the door.

For a moment, the world felt like it was splitting apart at the seams. Then he placed himself – lying in a hotel’s soft bed in India – and relaxed. He wasn’t at home. He was on the other side of the world, sharing a room with the man who dreamed of being Jeep. 

There was daylight streaming in through the crack in the curtains; by its soft light he could make out Xu Lian lying in his bed, still asleep. Sonhador tumbled out of his own, grabbing his pants off the floor and struggling into them as he hopped down the short carpeted hall towards the door. 

He flipped up the latch and swung the door open, running a hand through his hair as he did so and reaching the end sooner than expected. 

Quinn was waiting outside, standing in light pants and a collared shirt and holding a white ceramic mug in his hand. “Good morning.” Blue eyes glanced over Sonhador’s shoulder into the dark room behind him and lowered his voice, “Is Xu Lian still asleep?”

Sonhador nodded, brain easily processing the unusual tones and sounds of the language his ears told him he didn’t know.

“Do you want to shower in our room? There’s coffee.” Quinn held up his cup in example, and Sonhador could smell the rich bitter scent rising up with the steam. A shower hadn’t even occurred to him, but now that it was proposed his skin seemed to tingle in anticipation.

“Okay,” he said, memory feeding him the words. “I’ll grab my bag.”

“The door’s open,” answered Quinn, and padded away.

\----------------------------------------------------------

The shower here was weaker than the one in Fortaleza, but felt no less good. Sonhador washed his hair with a full handful of shampoo, and then rubbed brand new soap over his skin until it foamed thick and frothy. Here too the soap was a rich, soft white rather than the stone-hard yellowish chunks he was used to, which only offered a sud or two after minutes of determined chafing. He stood watching the white bubbles flow down the drain while the warm water beat down on his shoulders. The novelty was still fresh and sharp as air after a thunderstorm, and he stood under the stream for several minutes just enjoying it.

Out of the shower at last, he towelled his hair dry and then combed his fingers through it while staring at the blur of his reflection in the steamy mirror. He could feel it already standing up like a saw blade at the top. Sighing in surrender, he pulled on a red t-shirt and the loose khaki pants he’d worn yesterday. Packed up his duffle, picked it up and opened the door. 

And walked out, right into Genjyo Sanzo.

_A hand reaching out / The Thirty-First of China, Genjyo Sanzo / the harisen slamming down on his head / violet eyes, lit by the red glow of a cigarette / the bark of a revolver, and the harsh smell of gunpowder / gold hair, shining in the sunlight / You coming, stupid monkey?_

It was only when his ass hit the hard tile of the bathroom floor that he realised he’d fallen backwards, duffle thumping to the ground beside him. In the background he could hear agitated voices and footsteps, but they sounded as if they were miles away and he paid them no attention. 

It simply… was Sanzo. His blond hair shone a dull brass in the artificial light, but Sonhador knew that in sunlight it would be pure gold. The high curves of his cheekbones and the long line of his nose were just as strong and sharp as they were in his dreams. His eyes, staring down in surprise that was quickly turning to resignation, were the soft violet of a dusk sky. Sonhador had never seen anyone with eyes that colour while awake. 

“Uh,” he managed, getting slowly to his feet and forcing himself not to cringe in expectation of a harisen to the head, “S-sorry about that…” 

The man stepped back as Quinn appeared on his left, eyes flashing in vague concern. “Are you alright?”

“What? Oh, yeah; fine, fine.” He made to reach for his duffle, then changed his mind and tried to disguise the uncertainty by tugging at his shirt. “And, uh, this is – Ansgar?” Sanzo – Sanzo – Sanzo chanted Goku’s voice in the back of his head, and Sonhador knew now why the priest had always complained about it. It was like a drill, boring straight down into his heart. 

Quinn smiled with his lips, and watched with his eyes. “Yes.” He turned to the blond man, and spoke to him in English. “ _Ansgar, this is Sonhador._ ”

The man nodded curtly, and held out a hand. Sonhador stared at it for a couple of heartbeats before stumbling forward and shaking it; Ansgar’s hand was cool and firm, and that was it. It was only when he felt disappointment pricking like needles in his chest that he realised he had been expecting something more. Been expecting… warmth. Not so much physical as spiritual. The warmth Goku had always felt in his heart, in his veins, in his very bones around Sanzo. But that was unreasonable.

Ansgar nodded to him, eyes flint-hard and giving away absolutely nothing, and then turned to head into the room. Which left Sonhador standing on the cool bathroom tiles with wide eyes and a rushing heart and years of memories slamming into him like hammers. Sanzo – Sanzo – Sanzo.

“Do you want some coffee?” asked Quinn in a kindly tone, breaking into his thoughts. Sonhador stiffened, and then slumped back with a sigh. Grinned weakly, passing a hand over his eyes.

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

Quinn nodded and walked off. Out of sight in the room, Rob and Ansgar were talking in drawling voices. 

Sonhador shifted and out of the corner of his eye caught the movement in the mirror. He turned to see himself staring back from under a haircut he was more used to seeing in mirrors while asleep, wearing clothes that were too new and clean to look right. He looked like someone else, although whether that someone else was Goku he wasn’t sure. Mostly, though, he looked like he’d just witnessed a messy street accident. 

Without really knowing it, without really being aware of it, just like Goku he had been calling out to someone for his whole life. Had certainly been waiting for him. He had been expecting … everything. Instant recognition, friendship strong enough to risk his life, loyalty strong enough to die for, love strong enough to break his heart. 

All he felt though was a kind of seeping, biting cold. He supposed it was shock.

Sonhador gritted his teeth, turned on the tap and washed his face in cold water. Then, after drying it off, took a deep breath and walked into the main room.

Quinn was standing by the dresser doing something with a tray full of cups and packets. At a round table in the corner Rob and Ansgar were sitting, talking about something in disinterested tones. They all looked up as he came in, and then away again. Sonhador sat down on the corner of the bed nearest the table, and tried to keep from staring at Ansgar. It was only now that he took in the man’s clothes; a blue button-up shirt and worn jeans. The sort of thing Sanzo would have worn, if his clothes hadn’t been dictated. 

“There you are,” said Rob, as if he had been missing. “You take longer in the shower than Ansgar.”

The man, who had straightened in surprise at the sudden turn to Chinese, glanced over at the mention of his name. Rob repeated his comment in English and received a terse reply from the blond, his droopy eyes unimpressed.

He didn’t have Sanzo’s voice, anyway. He used similar tones, and there was a hint of gravel to his lower register, but Sonhador could have told the difference with cotton wool in his ears. Somehow, that was comforting. This wasn’t Sanzo. He knew that objectively, but his eyes seemed to feed straight into the memories regardless. The voice was a little slap from reality. 

To his left came the sound of water being poured; Sonhador glanced over and saw Quinn pouring the coffee into a white mug. The American glanced over his shoulder, “Do you want milk or sugar?”

“Uh, no, it’s fine like that. Actually, maybe some sugar.” They weren’t paying for it, after all. Quinn poured in a packet’s worth, and then handed it to him. Sonhador took a sip and then made a face; this wasn’t coffee, it was black sugar. Rob laughed.

“Guess that covers the Brazilian perspective on the rest of the world’s coffee.”

“Huh?” He looked up, swallowing. It wasn’t _bad_ , just not at all the acidic bitterness had been expecting. 

“Never mind. Do you –”

There was a knock at the door, and all four of them looked over simultaneously.

“It’s open,” said Quinn, heading towards it anyway. Xu Lian beat him to it, stepping in looking refreshed and awake with immaculately-combed damp hair. He was wearing a plain black shirt and sandy canvas pants and carrying a white binder under his arm. He glanced around at them and the coffee on the table.

“Good morning. Have you eaten yet?”

Quinn shook his head. “We were waiting for you. Did you want some coffee?”

“I’d rather eat, if you don’t mind.”

At the mention of food Sonhador stood, nearly spilling his own coffee. “Sounds good!” The last time he had eaten had been the airport in Lisbon, and with the time difference he didn’t even know how long ago that had been. Far too long, with the prospect of decent meals whenever he wanted them within his grasp.

Xu Lian glanced around and found agreement in the others, nodded. “Breakfast it is, then.” 

\----------------------------------------------------

They went to the hotel’s restaurant, Xu Lian and Quinn both producing check-in vouchers. It was on the second floor, across from a dark lounge whose long bar was unstaffed. The restaurant itself was bright and lively and filled with American tourists – even on the other side of the world they looked the same as those Sonhador was used to seeing at home on the rare occasions he went into the city proper. They took a seat, Sonhador between Xu Lian and Rob, and a waiter bustled over with a stack of menus. Sonhador took the laminated page that was handed to him, holding it at an angle and pretending to read the familiar letters joined in incomprehensible combinations while glancing over the top.

Across the table, Ansgar was reading the menu with a faint frown that was Sanzo’s standard considering expression. The one thing that was wrong about his appearance, Sonhador realised, was the red chakra of the gods, or rather the lack thereof – Ansgar’s forehead was smooth and unmarked. But then, he wasn’t a Sanzo in this life. Sonhador watched violet eyes flicker back and forth until the man finished reading and tossed the page down, and then went back to staring at his own before shrugging and dropping it on the table. He ordered the same thing as Rob in the end – a very Western toast with eggs and ham. 

All around them, people were chattering and laughing. On the speakers mounted in nooks and corners, energetic music was playing. The liveliness of the surroundings only made the silence at their table more awkward. 

1500 years ago, they had spent every hour of every day for years together. For the first time, they were all sitting around a table again, back to do the same job they had failed the last time. And no one knew how to start talking about that. Sonhador, feeling the tension lying heavy over the table and trapping them all net-like in its folds, glanced around at the nearby tables instead, eyeing the plates heaped with food. 

“Sonhador?” Ansgar’s drawling voice.

He jumped, swivelling in his chair to face the blond. “Y-yes?” He had forgotten with Xu Lian here they could talk. 

“You’re Brazilian?” His face showed little apparent interest, but his eyes were sharp.

“Uh, yeah.” Sonhador reached forward to fiddle with the edge of the table, and then forcefully dropped his hands.

“From where in Brazil?”

“Fortaleza.”

Ansgar nodded. “I did a shoot there last year, on the beach. Which district?” He had Sanzo’s idea of small talk with strangers – there was no such thing. Only interrogation. 

“The outskirts,” said Sonhador. And then, facing up to it with a shrugging and a smile, “The slums, actually. The favela of Palmeira.”

He was watching for the shock and disgust, but seeing them flash through that face still hurt. They were gone so fast, though, that he could almost convince himself he’d been looking too hard. Almost convince himself he had seen what he had expected to see rather than what was there. On the other hand, neither Rob nor Quinn looked at all surprised, just slightly grim. He elbowed Rob in the arm, “You knew?”

The man shrugged, looking at him with his head cocked and a humourless smile. “It was kind of apparent. No school, no job, no age?” He shrugged. “I guess none of us got it easy, but that’s…” Rob shook his head, lip curling. 

Sonhador’s smile softened into a more thoughtful, truer one. “I was never alone, y’know? That was important.” However wrong he may have felt, he had never, ever been locked away on his own. He glanced up at Ansgar, watching him with those eyes again. “Can I ask you something?”

“Do what you like.” 

_Do as you wish / Do as you like / Do what you want._

It was almost enough to stop him, stomach twisting so suddenly he had to snap his spine straight to keep himself from doubling over. He stiffened his shoulders instead, and forced himself to look straight into those violet eyes. His voice was still weak and uncertain. “Why did you come here? Xu Lian said you have none of his – none of Sanzo’s memories. No idea who we were, or what we were doing, or why it was important. Why come here with a bunch of crazy people like us? You know it’s gonna be dangerous.” 

Ansgar sat quietly for a minute, assessing him. When he answered it was in a low, considered tone. “It took Xu Lian five days to convince me to come here. To convince me that he – and you all – weren’t lunatics escaped from your asylums. I accepted that, with proof. I also accepted that this mission, crazy as it sounds, is necessary. Not because you – or we – have to make up for past mistakes, but because as far as I understand if this demon is resurrected the damage he could do would be equivalent to a full-scale war, and we have more than enough of those.” He shifted, eyebrows narrowing. “If it makes you feel better, my motives aren’t entirely a philanthropic. I work in a cut-throat industry. Every scrap of experience, of new ideas or expressions you can bring to the table increase your cut. I can’t imagine this failing to provide those.” 

“H-huh…” said Sonhador, not entirely understanding.

“In other words,” provided Rob, “he’s out for the cash. So he says.”

Ansgar gave him a flat look. Rob grinned. The blond rolled his eyes, and shifted his gaze in a different direction. Sonhador let out his breath, and felt his shoulders relaxing. 

At which point, the food arrived.

Sonhador spent the meal concentrating entirely on the rich, fatty, well-cooked food in front of him. Lathered his toast in jam and his eggs in butter, and tried everything with ketchup. While he ate Quinn, Rob and Xu Lian kept up a steady conversation into which Ansgar dropped a phrase or two now and then, but he hardly paid any attention. A meal like this wasn’t something to be distracted from. It was only when he had cleaned his plate and drained two glasses of orange juice that he looked up, ready to slip back into the stream of conversation. The other four were mostly onto their sweet coffee now, plates pushed away, and the discussion had slowed for lack of obvious subject matter.

“We’re not looking at it being monsoon season or anything while we’re here, are we?” asked Rob, stirring his coffee. 

Xu Lian shook his head. “No, they should mostly be over now. There may be some fluctuation in temperature, but it should be fairly warm and dry while we’re here. Maybe one or two thunderstorms, I think.”

“So it’s gonna be hot the whole damn time?” Rob drooped, scowling. Sonhador rolled his eyes.

“This isn’t hot.”

“We’re inside. There’s A/C.”

“I was outside yesterday. It wasn’t hot. Barely warm,” said Sonhador, smirking.

“Summers in China are also much hotter,” agreed Xu Lian.

“Well good for you. But I already sat out the Phili summer once this year; I don’t need another one. Quinn’ll back me up.”

“I grew up in California. I’m used to long summers,” said Quinn, only somewhat apologetically. Rob shot him a glare and fell into sulky silence.

“I’d like to ask you a question,” said Ansgar quietly, staring across the table at him. It was the first time he had spoken in several minutes; his tone seemed to indicate this was tied to Sonhador’s earlier question. Sonhador blinked, and nodded slowly.

“Sure.”

“We have three accounts of what this ‘failure’ that we’ve been sent out here to fix was, but none of them actually explain what happened. Do _you_ know?” 

Sonhador didn’t move a single muscle, just sat perfectly still despite the sudden painful clenching in his chest and the feeling like his skin had been covered in frost. Felt like if he moved, he might shatter. Beside him Xu Lian shifted, and said in an uncertain voice, “Maybe later would…”

But Ansgar wasn’t looking at Xu Lian. He was staring right at him, with Sanzo’s eyes. And he wanted to know. 

Sonhador forced himself into movement before he became locked in stillness. Licked his lips with his suddenly parched tongue, and looked down at the table. “I can tell you, but…” He licked them again, tried to swallow and barely managed. His throat was closing up. And across the table, Sanzo’s eyes were watching him. Every instinct he had told him to do what he was asked by those eyes. He looked down at the table, focusing on the salt shaker, and took a deep breath.

“Xu Lian said the last thing they remembered was blacking out after Ukoku flipped the switch.” He glanced up, and saw grim nods from Rob and Quinn and nothing but concern from Xu Lian. He turned his eyes across to Ansgar and forced himself to keep them there. It hadn’t been him. It hadn’t been him, and this wasn’t Sanzo. This wasn’t about them, it was just telling a story. Not them; just a story. He kept repeating the words to himself, and forced himself to continue. 

“Goku… Goku woke up after that. I don’t know… somehow Sanzo must’ve reinforced his diadem. He woke up,” Sonhador repeated, trying to find simple words with no pain or emotion tied to them, and knowing that was utterly impossible. “He woke up, and… everyone was dead. Ukoku and Gyokumen Koushu and her scientists… and Hakkai, and Gojyo, and Jeep. And… and y – Sanzo.” He took a deep, shaky breath. 

“I guess he should’ve tried to destroy the machines, or figure out how to reverse the Minus Wave, or – or something. It’s not that he didn’t think it was important. He didn’t think about it at all – couldn’t think about it. All he knew was that they were all dead, and he was alone. It was so quiet,” whispered Sonhador, and here in the centre of the crowded restaurant all he could here was that horrible, heart-breaking silence. He dug his fingers into his thighs, felt a muscle in his jaw leaping. “In the end, that was… he just couldn’t… couldn’t live with it. So… he followed Sanzo. Like always.”

It hurt. Hurt like a punch to the gut or a kick to the head. But somehow, he had expecting it to hurt much worse. Had expected revealing just how much Goku had failed to _burn_. But then, it hadn’t been the whole truth. 

He gave a hard, brittle smile. “So, I don’t know. Goku never left that room. They didn’t destroy the experiments or reverse anything. But what happened after that… I don’t know.”

Ansgar nodded slowly, face closed and solemn. Beside him, Rob shook his head. “That damn stupid –” he snarled, slammed back his chair and stalked off. Quinn stood, glancing at Sonhador, his eyes tight with pain, and followed him. The two of them strode quickly across the hall and sat down next to each other on a small couch in the lounge with its back to the restaurant, shoulders rounded and heads low. Beside him, Xu Lian pushed his glasses up and sighed.

The waiters, alerted to their table by the sudden departure of two of its members, hurried over with the bill. Xu Lian handed over his gold credit card and they disappeared again. 

“You all really do think like them,” said Ansgar softly. It wasn’t a question, but it wasn’t an accusation, either. Xu Lian glanced at him, as if to see if he wanted to answer.

“I guess it depends,” replied Sonhador, unfisting his hands from his now-wrinkled pants and beginning to roll up a paper napkin. “A lot of the time, probably not at all. But on things that’re all about emotion or instinct, or about the past, sometimes they just… leak out.”

“Being together also seems to have had an effect,” said Xu Lian in a flat tone. Sonhador nodded. 

“A big one. Not sure if that’s good or bad.”

“Well, if it comes down to a fight I don’t think I would regret having someone with Goku or Gojyo’s skills on my side.” Xu Lian gave just a hint of a smile, and then took the bill from the waiter as he reappeared and scribbled on it. Pocketed the credit card and then looked across the open hall to the lounge. Rob was leaning back with one arm over the back of the sofa, Quinn sitting slightly further away than he had been with relaxed shoulders. “Shall we join them?”

\-------------------------------------------------------

Rob and Quinn looked up with good-natured expressions when they arrived, Rob standing to help Sonhador drag a second table and some more chairs over. The past went unmentioned.

Once they were all seated around the composite table, Xu Lian put his binder down on it. Quinn produced a folded paper map from inside his loose blazer and put it down as well. Sonhador stared at them. “What are we doing?”

“Figuring out where we’re going,” drawled Rob.

“Don’t we know? We’ve already been there.”

Rob raised an eyebrow and indicated the binder with a sweep of his hand. “Great; point it out on a map.”

Sonhador considered, biting his lip. And remembered what had already occurred to him: Goku had never had any better idea of their destination than West. “Uh…” 

“Exactly.”

Xu Lian opened the binder and from a pocket on the inside of the cover pulled out a large map made up of four pieces of paper taped together. Together, they depicted the western half of China, as well as what Sonhador hazily recognized as India and the small country of Nepal sandwiched in between. The map showed mountains, deserts, rivers, lakes and other land formations in some detail, but only major cities were marked. Here and there, someone had written a few words in pencil in Chinese characters and drawn a faint squiggly line connecting them. 

“This is the best map I’ve been able to come up with. The most practical solution seems to be to map out their progress by major landmarks as best we can remember it to narrow down the area we have to search.”

“Land marks? Search?” said Sonhador, staring at the tiny lakes and rivers.

“Right. They passed through hundreds of towns, but even if we could remember the names and where they were roughly, most of them were so small that they’ve probably changed name and location a dozen times in the intervening time. But deserts and mountains and big rivers are much slower to change. We know Houtou castle was somewhere on this side of Nepal. But that encompasses all this area here,” Xu Lian pulled out a pencil and indicated a large oval of land. “That’s more than a thousand kilometres in length, and we’re not sure how deep into India to go, either. But if we can figure out the rough path they took, we can cut down the search area to somewhere manageable.”

“If you say so.”

“Just try to think of times they passed by major landmarks. Anything that narrows down their route is helpful.”

Sonhador sat back, and closed his eyes.

\-------------------------------------------------------

“There was that huge-ass river,” said Rob, after a while. He had a toothpick in his mouth again, and it wagged when he spoke. “The one we tried to take a boat across. With that kid.”

“Kon,” provided Sonhador. And then, “Gojyo broke the oar.”

“The damn youkai broke it.”

“Uh huh.”

“ _Anyway_ , it was frickin’ huge. With islands and everything. And near the mountains – remember, that old guy wanted them to take a detour over three mountains or some shit, and Sanzo said fuck no?”

“Yeah, and there were caves. Kon and his family hid in them – and then Kougaiji showed up, seven kinds of crazy and wanting to fight. Oh, and a cliff too, over the water; Goku took it out and dropped all those youkai in the river.”

“So, around here,” suggested Quinn, breaking in and scribbling something on the map and drawing a line.

\----------------------------------------------------

“That’s gotta be that desert,” said Rob, pointing. “You know, the one with the youkai village where they were all through crazy and out the other side? And there was the human village with the well? The one they were fighting with?”

Sonhador said nothing, just stared at the paper, mind full of dust and fire and the rumbling of a truck. Across from him, Ansgar sat silently, just watching. Sonhador thought he felt the weight of the man’s eyes on him, but when he looked up they were fixed on the map. 

“There were forests afterwards,” mused Quinn, pointing out different banks of woods.

“And very steep hills,” said Xu Lian, dryly. Pointed at one section, all shades of red to indicate steepness. Drew a circle, and a line.

\-------------------------------------------------

“What about the village with the moat and the drawbridge? You know, with that lady who sang all the time, and let the youkai in? It was in the mountains pretty far west.” Sonhador glanced over the mountains, searching for a familiar sign.

“Yeah, they ran out of food and almost starved. Again,” said Rob, not bothering to look.

“The road was steep, and curved. Only one path.” Xu Lian traced a few lines. “Here? Or maybe here? Was there a river?”

“I think … not,” said Quinn, slowly. “The other villages had all been plundered by the youkai, theirs was the last one. If it had been near a river it would surely have been found sooner.”

“This way, then.” A point. A line.

\--------------------------------------------------

For more than an hour they traced the jagged line across the vast expanse of China, over deserts and rivers and mountain ranges. Up into the snowy heights of Nepal, and down the other side again into the foothills of India.

“Here. It has to be around here somewhere,” said Xu Lian, circling an area about a centimetre wide on the map. “Near Kanpur.”

“Great,” said Sonhador, hopping over the back of the couch-chair he had pulled up to stretch his back and legs. “What now?”

“Now,” said Xu Lian, folding up the one map and picking up the one Quinn had provided, “We rent a car and get going.”

“Here we go again,” muttered Rob in a sing-song voice, standing as well. Quinn elbowed him in the side. Ansgar stood slowly, stretching, with an expression of boredom. 

“We can pack up and check out, and ask the concierge about rentals. I only checked into it slightly before coming.” He led the way out of the lounge, and they headed to the elevators.

“How long will it take to get there?”

“If the highway is anything like as fast as the ones I’m used to, about four hours?” said Xu Lian, opening the map as he walked. It was all roads, crisscrossing the page in lines of red and blue and yellow.

Sonhador blinked. “Four hours?”

“It depends on the traffic.”

“It’s a lot better than two years though, huh?” said Rob from behind them as they stepped into the elevator.

“Two years,” muttered Ansgar quietly, sounding somewhere between shocked and disbelieving. 

The elevator pinged at their floor and they stepped off. Here and there carts piled up with towels and cleaning supplies were sitting in the hall, some room doors open. They hadn’t reached the far end of the hall yet, though, and the five of them passed by the carts. Ansgar and Rob and Quinn broke off to enter their rooms, Sonhador following Xu Lian before remembering that he had left his duffle in the other room and backtracking.

He entered the room behind Quinn, just in time to hear Rob cursing. 

Inside the room, the bedclothes had been ripped off the bed and the curtains torn from the railings. Clothes and possessions were strewn all about the chaos, bags lying upended on the tops of it all. A moment later, Ansgar and Xu Lian shot in, the situation clear on their faces.

Rob kicked his now-empty bag across the floor. “The hell’s going on?”


	5. The Debt

Sonhador, Rob and Quinn sat by while a hard-faced Xu Lian and a hard-nosed Ansgar spoke with a series of staff ending with a calm but apologetic manager, who arrived looking concerned but not particularly surprised. Xu Lian explained the situation to him, with Ansgar interspersing now and then with a few curt words of criticism.

“You’re not going to help?” asked Sonhador of Quinn, who was sitting with his legs crossed reading a paperback book. 

The short-haired man looked up, and glanced over at the three men on the other side of the room for an instant; two with hard, flat expressions and one with pleading hands. “I don’t think he’s earned my help,” he answered, and then went back to his book.

Sonhador blinked. “Huh…” 

It ended with the manager writing out a refund and issuing copious apologies, especially to the glowering Ansgar. The whole matter was resolved with relative ease owing to the fact that it turned out nothing had actually been stolen – no one had left money or valuables in the rooms and such possessions as there were had all been left. This seemed to bother the others considerably more than Sonhador, who was quite used to casual vandalism. 

Issue resolved, or at least money reimbursed, they packed up their bags again. It only took Sonhador a minute to stuff his slim array of clothes back into his duffle. When he had finished he went next door to help Xu Lian gather his much wider range of scattered belongings, mostly high-end clothes and small charms and amulets. 

They met downstairs by the concierge, Sonhador carrying his bag over one shoulder and his pipe on the other and Xu Lian his duffle and a smaller satchel, the Chinese man now wearing a white light-weight knee-length jacket. 

Ansgar was already there with a leather bag sitting at his feet. He had a cell phone out and was reading the tiny screen with a bored expression, but flipped to a blank screen and pocketed it when they appeared, nodding blandly to them. Xu Lian returned the gesture and then stepped past him to speak to the concierge in a low voice, pulling out a paper print-out and indicating several points on it. Sonhador smiled awkwardly, and put down his own bag.

“Was your stuff okay?”

Ansgar shrugged. “Fine. I didn’t leave anything important in the room.”

“You sure scared the manager.”

“No one likes to get on the bad side of big names.”

Sonhador looked at him more closely, curious. “Are you a big name?”

Ansgar’s lips crooked. “Not especially, but he doesn’t know that. All he knows is I have my picture in magazines.” Ansgar produced a thin black wallet, and from it a small white card which he handed over. There was printing on both sides, the same name and address but with a few differences. And on both there was a small picture of Ansgar staring at the camera with Sanzo’s classic droopy-eyed stare; it had been somehow edited to be all black and white except for his violet eyes. “Most people think that means I’ve got nearly as much pull as movie stars. And everyone in the hospitality industry knows enough to know they don’t want to piss someone like that off.”

“Right,” said Sonhador, who did know it. You never got in the way of anyone famous. In the favelas money was very literally power, and the level of power wielded by someone famous was enough to wipe out entire neighbourhoods. Of course, the fame that appeared in the favelas was never that of movie stars. Big names there came tied with a much more expensive and deadly products. 

“Hey, looks like we’re last,” interrupted a cheerful voice from behind. Rob, grinning from underneath the brim of a soft-sided fawn-coloured felt hat. He had changed from his t-shirt and jeans into a navy ribbed T covered by a long-sleeved linen shirt printed with a faded paisley pattern, brown khaki pants and leather boots. Sonhador stared.

“He takes most people that way. Don’t worry, your eyes will glaze over soon enough,” provided Quinn from next to him. They were both wearing large canvas backpacks. 

“H-huh…”

“You have no sense of fashion,” said Rob, dividing his comment equally between the two of them. 

At the concierge, Xu Lian finished his conversation and turned. Stared for just an instant at Rob, and then tore his gaze away to address all of them. “There’s a car rental agency a few blocks down the street. Shall we go?”

They went.

\-------------------------------------------------

Outside it wasn’t the heat or the humidity that were different than home, but the smell. The air was more smoggy but at the same time there was much less of the thick scent of mud and garbage that pervaded Palmeira, and the flowering climbers and shrubs planted and placed all along the sidewalk and in planters and hanging baskets had a different fragrance than those decorating the more fashionable sectors of Fortaleza. The trees looked different too, their leaves not as vibrant or lush as those in the forests back home. 

They walked down the street in a loose group, Xu Lian leading with the map and almost shouting to Ansgar to be heard over the traffic, Sonhador in the middle staring at the people hurrying by them on the crowded sidewalk, and Rob and Quinn bringing up the rear chatting lightly. Overhead the sun beat down bright and hot, the sky hazy. All around them, lively music was blaring in street-side stores, traffic was roaring and pedestrians were talking either to their friends or cell phones. 

Sonhador turned to point out a food stall up ahead selling flatbread and what smelled like some kind of savoury dip to Rob and Quinn, just as the pale man glanced up at a busy overpass. In the sunlight, his eyes were bright fire-red. 

“Waugh!” Sonhador caught his heel on an uneven crack in the pavement and nearly fell, centre of balance thrown off by the bag he was carrying. Rob raised an eyebrow at him; now that he was looking straight at him, the man’s eyes were clearly blue.

“What’s up?”

“Your eyes! They were red!”

Rob blinked, then understanding dawned and he glanced up at the sky again. The sun shone below the brim of his hat, and his eyes glinted red. As soon as he lowered his head enough to shadow them, they were blue again. “Neat trick, huh?”

“W-what?”

Rob shrugged. “There’s a complicated scientific explanation, but what it amounts to is that the lines of the pigment – the colour – in my eyes are so faint that in bright light you just see the blood vessels. Or there’s the romantic explanation.”

“Huh?”

“You haven’t noticed?”

“Noticed what?”

“Every one of us has one of their traits – except for Ansgar, who’s an exception to everything, really. Gojyo’s eyes, Hakkai’s face, Goku’s hair.” Rob’s easy grin didn’t reach his eyes. He produced a toothpick from his pocket and put it in his mouth.

Sonhador’s brows drew together in contemplation. “What about Xu Lian, then?”

Rob shrugged, lips still crooked. “Ask him about it later.” He glanced over Sonhador’s shoulder. “Looks like we’re here.”

“Huh?” Sonhador spun around, and saw on their left the lot full of cars and trucks behind a white-painted metal fence. Ahead, Xu Lian and Ansgar were already walking through the gate. “We’re really renting a car?”

“You wanted to walk?” asked Rob from behind him.

“Nah, but wouldn’t it be cheaper to take a bus or something?”

“Sure. But I’d rather not spend two days on one, or end up stranded in some desert somewhere. Again,” added Rob, frowning in remembrance.

“Huh?”

“There are just some things better avoided anywhere,” explained Quinn. “Drinking the water and crossing the country by public transit are two to be avoided here.” They followed Xu Lian and Ansgar into the air conditioned office building and joined the short queue. 

Sonhador’s brow furrowed. “Why the water?”

“It’s not clean.”

“Smelled okay to me,” said Sonhador. Rob and Quinn glanced at each other.

“You can’t always tell,” said Quinn slowly. “So it’s easier just to be safe.”

“What am I supposed to drink, then?”

“We’ll get some bottled water. Actually, we should probably pick up some food before we hit the road.” He glanced at Sonhador. “Want to come?”

Sonhador nodded. “Sure.”

Quinn stepped up to Xu Lian and spoke in his ear. The man nodded without looking around, and Quinn turned, smiling mildly. “Let’s go.”

They dropped their luggage for Ansgar to watch – the man assented flatly – and headed back out into the heat.

\-------------------------------------------------------

There was a convenience store a few blocks down, its windows filled with bright posters and product advertisements. It was much cleaner and more spacious than the dirty hovels Sonhador was used to seeing in the poor districts neighbouring the favela, but that wasn’t saying much. The aisles were still so narrow that walking down them even Sonhador with even his thin shoulders was in danger of knocking something off the tightly-packed racks.

He wandered through the bright shelves staring at the hundreds and hundreds of bags, cans, bottles, packages and boxes. Some of the wealth of foods was easily identifiable – chips, crackers, pretzels, brand-name candy. Some, on the other hand, was completely foreign and mysterious – shiny bags with pictures of elephants on them, glass jars filled with red paste speckled with green and black flecks, bizarrely shaped cylindrical packages in various colours with no pictures to hint at the content.

Sonhador carefully chose a box of crackers and, after lengthy consideration, added a bag of M n’ M’s. 

He found Rob and Quinn at the back of the store standing by the glass refrigerator doors. Quinn was holding a basket loaded with bags and boxes and plastic-wrapped food. Rob glanced at him, and raised an eyebrow at his choices. “That all? You should grab something for lunch – who knows what getting off the highway’ll be like.”

“R-right.”

“You can put them in the basket,” offered Quinn, holding it out. “What would you like to drink? Water? Something fizzy? There are some interesting juices.” He opened the door with his free hand and pulled out a bottle filled with pinking liquid to peer at the label.

“Uh, anything’s fine.” Sonhador slide his food into the basket and went to stare at the prepared stuff in an open cooler. Most of it was some kind of breaded good – sandwiches, wraps, little folded triangle things with plastic cups of sauce. Largely at sea, Sonhador took a packet of the triangle pastries and returned to the other two. The drinks had been decided, Rob carrying a two-litre bottle of water and a six-pack of beer, and several other miscellaneous bottles were nestled in the basket.

The man behind the register beamed at them when Quinn lifted their weighty choices up onto the counter, and greeted them pleasantly in English as he began to ring the food through. Quinn patted his pockets, and glanced at Rob. Asked something in English, which the other replied to in what sounded like a drawn-out negative, pulling out his wallet as he did so. From it, he produced a gold-tinted card. Sonhador startled. 

“When did Xu Lian give you the card?”

Rob looked back at him. “It’s not his, it’s mine.”

Sonhador stared. “Yours,” he said, slowly.

“Yeah, mine. See?” Rob held it out so that Sonhador could see the raised numbers and letters on its surface. He managed to piece together _Robert_ before the pale man pulled it back. 

“But what about Xu Lian?” 

“What about him?”

“I – nothing.” Sonhador broke off and looked away. Behind the till, the man finished ringing in and bagging their purchases, and Rob handed over his card. The bill was wrung through, and Sonhador took his share of the bags to carry back. He slowly followed the other two out of the store and down the street. 

Xu Lian had lied. Which meant that all this – the plane tickets, the clothes, the food – was charity. Something he had absolutely no possible chance of repaying. And now it was too late to change anything – he couldn’t strip off his clothes, refuse to eat and run off into the slums of Delhi. Goku had lived uncomplainingly off Sanzo’s charity for three years at the temple before the mission West and the Three Aspects’ gold card came along. What had Sanzo said? Money wasn’t important, just some of the things it could buy? From Sanzo he could believe that, but who knew what Xu Lian felt. 

For now, all he could do was wait and consider. There wasn’t anyone he was sure he could trust to be honest rather than reassuring to talk to. Maybe Ansgar…

Following the two thoughtlessly, Sonhador looked up at the sudden absence of crowds, and found himself back in the rental parking lot. To their right a horn honked and an engine turned over. 

The three of them looked, and then stood staring in shocked silence as an ugly box-shaped van rolled over, Xu Lian at the wheel and Ansgar in the passenger seat. The van, newly cleaned and now a nearly blinding white in the midday sun, came to a stop in front of them. Rob reached out slowly and pulled the back seat door open on its rollers with a deeply uncertain gesture.

“Seriously?” he asked the inside of the van, incredulously. “What are we, Scooby Doo?”

“You three would rather share the back seat of a Civic?” replied Xu Lian dryly.

Rob grumbled, but climbed in.

\----------------------------------------------------

The roads in India followed the driving practices of those Sonhador was used to – changing lanes every few seconds, passing on whichever side was available and occasionally on the sidewalk, selective ignorance of indicator lights and stoplights. In short, the idea that road rules were largely optional. 

Judging from the clenched fists and stiff rictuses on the faces of Quinn and Rob when they turned to speak to him, that wasn’t the case in America.

“Y’know,” he said, alone in the back seat with the luggage, “I kinda figured Quinn would drive.”

Quinn laughed hollowly. “Even L.A. doesn’t compare to this. And driving across hundreds of miles of wilderness is nothing in comparison to a six-lane highway.”

“Could be worse,” muttered Rob.

“How?”

“Could be riding shotgun.”

“Don’t worry,” replied Ansgar from the front, in a clenched voice. “You’ll have the opportunity at the first rest-stop.”

The other four didn’t have to make eye contact for Sonhador to be able to read their thoughts: _rest stop?_

\-------------------------------------------------------

Once they got on the highway and cleared Delhi, the driving calmed down into a much more even stream and the other men began to relax. The food was broken out. Sonhador, with most of the bottles and packages at his feet, played the part of waiter – or more accurately pitcher. Rob immediately demanded a can of beer to calm his nerves, Quinn requested his sandwich and Ansgar some crackers. Sonhador opened his packet of triangular pastries. He took one bite, and nearly sprayed it across the back of Quinn’s seat – the filling burned, was already lining his throat in fire. He scrambled frantically for a bottle while Rob laughed and Quinn offered him his water – he finally found an orange juice, and drank nearly half of it before he felt he could breathe without choking.

They ate quietly for a while, Sonhador taking frequently drinks. Eventually, Ansgar turned slightly, eyes flashing in the rear-view mirror. “So what now?”

There was a pause. “What do you mean?” asked Quinn carefully, when no one else spoke.

“They spent years travelling, didn’t they? What did they do in all that time?”

“Bicker,” said Quinn.

“Fool around,” said Sonhador.

“Nothing,” said Rob.

“Kick the seats,” said Xu Lian.

“…I see.” Ansgar shifted back to face front. In the quiet, Quinn turned to face the inside of the van. 

“There’s always cards.”

\----------------------------------------------------------

“So who the hell could it be?” asked Rob, throwing a pair of cards down onto the duffle serving as central table, and adding, “Two.” He accepted the cards from Ansgar, who handed them backwards over his shoulder without looking. “I mean, the mistress’s dead. Isn’t she?” He glanced at Sonhador, and then away again with shuttered eyes.

“Yeah,” answered Sonhador flatly, staring at his cards. “She’s dead. So’s Ukoku.”

“Right. Well, who else knew or cared? Whatever Kougaiji wanted, he never seemed to care too much about the whole Resurrection thing.”

“And at the end, he turned against it entirely,” added Quinn thoughtfully.

“Did he die?” Xu Lian glanced in the mirror, a flash of red and black. “I don’t remember seeing him again after they split up.”

“Hakkai saw him once from afar in the melee,” provided Quinn, “But that was it.”

“He wasn’t in the throne room,” said Sonhador quietly. 

“One,” said Ansgar, and dealt it to himself.

Rob looked around. “So we don’t know what the hell happened to him, but –”

“Lirin,” said Quinn suddenly, in a low, shocked voice. “I’d forgotten –”

A struggling body, the flash of a knife. Blonde hair, dark skin, red blood dripping down from iron scaffolding. “They killed her,” said Sonhador, nearly stumbling over the words. “But – her mother –”

“That cold-hearted bitch. Kougaiji was right.” Rob took a hissing breath. “Well, he’s out then; no way would he have any part in the Resurrection after that.” He paused for a moment, staring vaguely at nothing, and then blinked. “Who else?”

“Could there be someone else like you?” suggested Ansgar.

There was a considering pause. Sonhador requested two cards absently, and had them handed to him from the front by Quinn, tossed his own onto the duffle. 

“I suppose,” admitted Quinn at last, “But why would there be? Xu Lian, you said the Three Aspects said…”

“That someone would try to resurrect Gyuumaou, and it was our duty to stop it,” said the driver, without turning.

“Implying we had been given their memories specifically for that purpose. Why would they resurrect our enemies? Oh, none, thank you,” he added, waving absently at Ansgar.

Rob pushed a hand through his hair, looking up from his cards. “Maybe they screwed up. Like with Ansgar.”

“Thanks,” said the blond dryly.

“No offense,” grinned Rob.

“But then who’s left?” asked Sonhador, staring glumly at his cards and then giving up.

“Maybe it’s someone else entirely. No one connected with that time at all. Archaeologists or explorers or geologists,” suggested Quinn.

Rob snorted. “What, like the Discovery Channel gone wrong?”

“Very wrong,” said Xu Lian, with just a hint of a smile in his tone.

“Great,” said Rob. And then, to Sonhador, “You gonna call, or what?”

Sonhador made a face. “Fold.”

\----------------------------------------------------------

Sonhador shuffled the cards, somewhat awkwardly as he relied entirely on his memories to try to bridge. 

“What if we have to fight?” he asked, gnawing at his lip in concentration. The van bumped, and the cards spilled into his lap and across the seat with a sound like a hen trying to take flight. 

“What about it?” replied Rob.

“Well, can we? I mean, I’m pretty good with the pipe, but…” He gathered up the cards and forced them back into a deck, began again.

“I doubt we’ll be dealing with trained soldiers,” said Xu Lian, and Sonhador remembered he had asked him the question before. It seemed like a long time ago now. Fortaleza seemed like years ago already and it had only been – what? Two days? Three?

“What if we are?” Ansgar looked across at him.

Sonhador shook his head, and began dealing out four piles of cards.

Rob shrugged, and switched his toothpick from one side to the other. “Well, I haven’t done as much brawling as Gojyo, but I can hold my own in a fight. Give me a staff like Sonhador’s, and I could do plenty more. And Quinn trains; Hakkai was no slouch at hand-to-hand.”

“Really?” Sonhador passed out the hands, looking at the tall American with interest.

“It’s good to stay in shape. Besides, I have to keep up my end,” answered the man with a smile as he accepted his cards.

“He really just wants to break someone’s neck,” confided Rob. Quinn continued smiling mildly, and began sorting his cards. Sonhador laughed awkwardly, and pressed on quickly.

“What, uh, about Xu Lian?”

The driver glanced in the mirror. “Oh, I train too. Tan tui and Chuojiao – a bit similar to kickboxing.” 

“Wow.”

“Well, you know. Turning into a jeep and dropping on someone seemed a bit unfeasible.” 

Sonhador laughed, genuinely this time. 

“And Ansgar?” asked Rob, raising his eyebrows and glancing at the blond in genuine curiosity – and, Sonhador thought, just a tiny hint of concern.

“I’m sure I can manage to punch someone in the face if necessary.”

“Maybe we should get you some mace, or a knife,” said Quinn, seriously.

Rob looked up. “Maybe we should get you a gun.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” said Xu Lian, dryly. 

Sonhador smiled weakly, and looked down at his cards. The idea of San – Ansgar unable to protect himself made him nervous, and somehow unhappy. A kind of cold slithering feeling in his gut. 

\----------------------------------------------------------

They drove through the afternoon and into the evening, the sun slowly setting behind them. Every time Sonhador saw it behind him in the back window, his chest tightened just slightly.

The card game petered out after a few hours, too difficult spread through the van and too boring with no stakes. Ansgar fell quiet first, and appeared to go to sleep after a while. Rob and Quinn kept up a quiet conversation for a while longer, Sonhador chipping in now and then. Slowly, though, the smooth ride and the hypnotic hum of the air conditioner lulled them into a stupor and they fell silent too.

Sonhador, slumped down in the back seat with his feet propped up on his duffle, stared dully out the tinted window. It was strange – surreal. The five of them driving smooth and silent through the Indian heat. It felt to Sonhador like they were all alone, cut off from the world around them, a tiny unnoticed bubble drifting in the breeze. Sonhador shifted heavily, yawning. Five men from a different time on a journey no one else knew about or would have understood if they did. A tiny shout in an empty desert, a gold crown buried in a million grains of sand. As the setting sun beat down on his back, Sonhador slipped from heavy stupor into sleep. 

\-------------------------------------------------------

Everything about the desert is hot. The heat pours down from above and radiates up from below. There’s almost no shelter; often they drive by night and camp by day in Jeep’s shadow. Today they’ve stopped by the ruins of some long-abandoned village. Goku thinks long-abandoned, although it’s hard to tell in the desert. Things go from bright and alive to dusty and skeletal in days here. 

Goku sits in the shadow of a tall stone wall and stares at a tiny gecko, crawling across a half-buried boulder a few feet away. It’s too small to eat and he’s too tired to jump at it anyway, but he still wants to – the desert is a hungry, hungry place. They only ever get to have dried stores or tinned food; no water to waste in cooking. 

Hakkai and Gojyo are sheltering in their own pools of shadow a few feet away. Sanzo disappeared as soon as they stopped for the morning, grumbling to himself. They’ve been sleeping outside for the past three days, and it’s been brutally hot, and they ran out of cigarettes halfway through the night. The bullets have been flying closer, lately. Goku still hopes he’s staying in the shadows and watching out for scorpions and snakes.

“What’s for dinner, Hakkai?”

The dark-haired man looks up, smile worn. They’re all tired. “We still have some cans of tuna and ham left. And some nuts and crackers.”

Goku tries to smile back, but his stomach’s clawing at his ribs and canned tuna and ham with crackers and nuts won’t appease it in the least.

“How much farther does this fucking desert go on for anyway?” Gojyo flops back in the sand, spread-eagled to try to soak in some coolness from the shadowed grains. 

“According to the map, we should already be out of it.”

“Great. How come all the deserts in this country are growing?”

“Perhaps it’s the calamity. Or perhaps we’ve just had a few dry years. Who can say?” Hakkai’s tone sounds brittle, even to Goku’s ears. Gojyo shuts up. On his shoulder, Jeep chirps quietly and nestles his owner’s head. Hakkai strokes his long neck softly.

Goku looks out at the ruins, searching for a hint of movement, even the flicker of a shadow. Wonders where Sanzo is, whether he’s thirsty. He can look after himself, Goku knows that, but they’ve never had good luck with deserts and Sanzo’s in such a bad mod…

“Quit looking so worried, monkey. The shitty priest is fine. He knows better than to fall into a scorpion pit.” Gojyo’s not even looking at him, is staring up at the blue sky above.

Goku makes a face anyway. “I’m not a monkey, you perverted kappa. An’ I know that.”

“Then stop worrying about him. He’ll just be even more pissed if he comes back to that stupid face of yours.”

“You’re not even looking.”

“Don’t have to. I already know all the thoughts in your pea-sized brain.”

“Why you red-haired cockroach –”

“Cockroach?! You damn stupid monkey, who the hell –”

“Maa maa. Calm down before you both sweat out today’s ration of water. Why don’t we have dinner?”

Goku slumps back, irritation spent and immediately exhausted again. “Can’t eat ‘til Sanzo gets back,” he murmurs.

“The hell not? You can save him something. Some nice nuts and crackers.”

Goku shakes his head. “I’ll wait.”

“Oho, the monkey’s finally learning table manners.”

“Gojyo,” says Hakkai, mildly. The red-head sighs, but shuts up. Goku cranes his neck backwards to stare up at the sky. It’s pure, unbroken blue. Just like every day in the desert. 

A dark shadow falls over his face, and Goku sits up, eyebrows wrinkling. The harisen comes whistling out of nowhere and smacks him on the side of his head. Goku tumbles over, holding it and cursing quietly. Looks up to see Sanzo standing above him, fan resting on his shoulder. He jumps up, hands fisted.

“The hell was that for? I didn’t do anything!”

“Quit mooning around with such a stupid face,” says the priest, expression bored. To one side, Gojyo breaks into quiet hoots of laughter.

“I wasn’t!” says Goku, furiously.

“Oh really?” Sanzo stares back flatly, completely unimpressed. Goku deflates.

“We were gonna eat dinner in a minute,” he says, glancing at Hakkai, who is already unpacking the tins. 

“I’m sure,” replies the priest dryly, and steps into Goku’s pool of shade. Goku’s self-defensive speech on waiting for Sanzo to start eating drops off the horizon. Sanzo’s in a good mood now. Or a better one, at least. Goku looks up at him, worry falling from his shoulders like an abandoned blanket. Sanzo glances at him.

“What’re you staring at, monkey?”

“Nothin’.” Goku rubs his nose, and grins. “I had to fight for your dinner, y’know! That perverted kappa wanted to eat it all right away!”

“Like hell I did, you lying little –”

\----------------------------------------------------

Sonhador snapped awake, and found Quinn leaning over him with a light hand on his shoulder. “Good dream?” he asked, gently. 

Sonhador shrugged, blinking awake. “We there?”

“Yes. Xu Lian has gone to the travel centre to look into possible locations for the castle. Rob and Ansgar have gone to rent hotel rooms.”

Sonhador nearly asked “With what?” but bit back the question at the last second. Quinn saw it, or something, on his face though. Sat down on the seat in front of him facing backwards.

“Is something wrong?”

“Nah. It all just takes getting used to, y’know?” He made an effort, and shifted his line of thought. “’S kind of weird, being here and working out everything based on something I remember from a thousand years ago. Speaking a language no one speaks anymore like I grew up speaking it.” Even after a day, he was already shifting seamlessly in and out of it as required. 

Quinn nodded gently, eyes soft. “I know. You’re not entirely sure how much of you is you. And really, how much of you you _want_ to be you. Sometimes it seems much easier to be someone else – why bother working out who you are when you can rely on past experience. Or am I wrong?”

Sonhador shook his head slowly. “I never thought about it like that, but… yeah. He was always so strong, so certain. When I’m not… it’s so easy just to be him. Until I’m not really sure if I’m growing, or just turning into Goku.”

“Do you resent it?” He sounded genuinely curious, was watching closely.

Sonhador’s lips crooked, just a tiny half-smile. “Xu Lian asked me almost the same thing. No, I don’t. He’s saved my life more than once, and others’ too. I’d be dead in a gutter if it weren’t for the memories. Seems selfish to resent feeling alone in the world over that.” He shrugged slightly. “Do you?”

Quinn shook his head. “No. Like you, having Hakkai’s memories… gave me someone to be when I might otherwise have become someone much less… desirable.” Outside, traffic blared and lights flashed in the darkness. In the dim light, the lines of Hakkai’s face were much more apparent than Quinn’s dark skin. 

“My mother died when I was young and my father drank too much,” he said, frankly. “I don’t mean to complain, but it doesn’t seem fair that we all know your background when you know none of ours.” Quinn frowned slightly, apparently thinking heavily on his words. He spoke slowly and carefully. “He was a difficult man, never pleased, never proud, and always drunk. I probably would have developed some extreme inferiority complex and turned into a deeply unhappy, and possibly deeply unpleasant, person without Hakkai’s strength and knowledge and confidence. Or worse.” His tone as he ended was brittle, eyes staring out the back window behind Sonhador.

“I’m sorry,” said Sonhador softly, and Quinn actually startled.

“No – I didn’t mean –” he smiled ruefully. “It’s difficult to tell anyone about an unfortunate past without appearing to fish for sympathy.”

“No, I know. But still.”

Quinn shifted, standing, and gave a small genuine smile. “Thank you. Shall we go find Rob and Ansgar?”

“Sure.” Sonhador picked up his duffle, the last one, and his pipe and followed Quinn out of the van. The man had the keys, and locked up after them. “Quinn? What about Rob? Is he okay with it?”

Quinn’s smile slipped. “In some ways,” he said, after a moment. “But that’s for him to say.”

“Okay.”

\----------------------------------------------------

The hotel was much less impressive than the two previous ones. While not actually ramshackle, it was small, old, and a bit dirty in the corners. Still, Sonhador trooped happily up to the rooms they had been given, followed by Rob and Quinn; Ansgar stayed below to show Xu Lian up.

The rooms were smaller and the twin beds covered in thinner, more faded covers. Sonhador dropped his duffle in the room he and Xu Lian were to share, and went next-door with his pipe.

Rob, digging in his backpack, glanced up when he came in. His eyes flitted immediately to the pipe. “You gonna need that?”

“Dunno. Are we gonna be attacked?”

“How could we be? No one knows that we’re here, or even who we are.”

“So we’re assuming the previous break-in was just a fluke?” interjected Quinn, sitting on the window-side bed with a book. Rob glanced at him; he shrugged. “Better safe than sorry.”

“What about Ansgar?” asked Sonhador, suddenly remembering the blond. And then, remembering the man’s lack of training with a sharp twisting in his gut, stepped immediately towards the door. Opened it, only to come face-to-face with Xu Lian, who blinked.

“You have sharp ears,” said the Chinese man, surprised.

Sonhador ignored him, looked over his shoulder. “Where’s Ansgar?” he demanded.

The blond man appeared, eyebrows raised slightly.

“Here. Why?”

Sonhador sighed and slumped back into the room. “Nothing. Just – nothing.”

Xu Lian gave him a sympathetic look, and walked past into the room. Ansgar glanced at him in passing as well, slightly confused. 

“Did you find it?” asked Rob, pushing his backpack away into a corner.

“No.” Xu Lian pulled out some flyers. “I have the extreme mountainous regions marked off, though. We should be able to do a tour of them fairly easily – a few days at most – and see if any look familiar. The roads will have changed, of course, but not the mountains.”

“We’re going sight-seeing?” asked Sonhador.

“Too bad I didn’t bring my camera,” replied Quinn.


	6. The Discovery

Sonhador was woken from a confused dream, more feelings than clear images, by a rattling click.

He lay silent in the warm bed for a moment, staring up into the dark in puzzlement. Then there was a slow inflow of light, like a weak sunrise, as the room’s door slid open. 

Sonhador sprang up out of the bed, tripping on the blanket as he went but recovering with his momentum, and grabbed his pipe from where it was propped up against the wall. There were two men silhouetted in the faint light streaming in from the hallway.

“What the hell’re you doing here?” he demanded, realising even as he did so that they almost certainly didn’t speak Portuguese. Both figures paused, and then one broke forward and sprang at him. Sonhador dodged low and brought the pipe down in a sharp swing. Heard the crack and whimper as it met the man’s arm, and a metallic thump as something hit the carpet.

Behind him, a light turned on. By it he could see the two men who had broken in: they were young, dirty and poorly dressed, and wearing mixed expressions of defiance and fear. In front of him, the larger man was recoiling, his right arm tucked tight against his chest.

“Don’t let them leave,” said Xu Lian’s voice, sounding sharp and wide awake. It seemed to act as catalyst; at the sound both men immediately turned to run. Sonhador leapt after them, skidding out into the narrow hallway in his bare feet and twisting his pipe to bring it down on the hind-most man’s shoulder. In that instant, a door opened directly in front of him, and even throwing all his weight backwards he still careened into it at nearly full force. He fell back to the ground, stunned, his pipe clattering out of his hands. Dazed, he watched as two more men tumbled out of the door and down the hall, one limping heavily, taking a sharp turn down at the end towards the stairs. Further down the hall a third door opened and a single man emerged and fled after the rest. 

By that point Sonhador was hauling himself up to his feet; Xu Lian appeared from behind him in time to grab his elbow and help him up the rest of the way. Sonhador glanced over his shoulders and sat that the man wasn’t wearing his glasses, but otherwise looked entirely composed. Xu Lian looked down at him, dark eyes flashing in the dim hall light.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. Ran smack into the damn door.” Sonhador rubbed his forehead. The door opened, and Quinn stepped out with a stony face and hard eyes, followed by Rob looking furious. Both were wearing just shorts and t-shirts. Sonhador’s eyes flashed to Ansgar’s door, throat tightening, and he took a quick step in that direction. At that moment it opened and the blond emerged, looking even more unimpressed than Rob and shaking his hand. Sonhador sighed in relief.

“The fuck _is_ this? Seriously? How do they know we’re here? _Who_ knows we’re here?” Rob ran a frustrated hand through his hair, glowering at the wall.

“At least we know that the previous incident wasn’t a coincidence,” said Quinn dryly, although his eyes were no less intense than before and his shoulders were rigid as stone.

Sonhador crossed his arms over his bare chest; the hallway wasn’t as heavily air conditioned as the rooms, but it was still chilly. “What do we do now?”

“Go back to bed,” said Xu Lian, checking his watch. “It’s 3:30. It’s unlikely anyone else will come tonight.”

Sonhador bent down and picked up his pipe. Stood, and met Ansgar’s eyes. “Maybe I should switch rooms?” he suggested querulously, and saw the man’s eyebrows knit together as expected. 

“It’s not a bad idea,” said Quinn, glancing at the blond. “You’re the only one with no self-defence training.”

Ansgar frowned, but didn’t deny it. Instead he glanced back down the hall, looking irritated. “My room only has one bed.”

“I can trade with you,” said Xu Lian. “We don’t have to bother with the luggage.”

“Fine. The door’s unlocked.” He looked to Sonhador with heavily-drooping violet eyes, waiting. Sonhador stiffened slightly, and turned.

“R-right.” He led the way back to the room, heard the opening and shutting of Rob and Quinn’s door behind him.

The light was still on in his own room. Glinting on the middle of the worn carpet was a cheap switch-blade, the kind of weapon Sonhador wouldn’t have blinked at seeing in the favela. He picked it up and pressed the knife back into the handle, then put it down on the chest of drawers. Behind him, the door clicked shut and the lock turned. He could feel Ansgar’s eyes boring into the back of his neck. He turned, grinning awkwardly.

“Uh, Xu Lian had the bed near the window. But maybe I should take that…”

“We’re on the third storey,” dismissed Ansgar, walking past him and pulling the blanket further back on what had been Xu Lian’s bed. 

Sonhador stood blinking for a moment, then returned to his own. Leant the pipe up against the wall where he could reach it easily, and climbed under the covers. 

Ansgar turned out the light. 

Sonhador lay back slowly. Sanzo and Goku had shared rooms hundreds of times. If the rooms were split by pairs, that had always been the accepted option. Goku had been so used to it that not only could he tell when Sanzo fell asleep, he could tell whether he was dreaming and if so whether it was a good dream (rare), a vague one (usual) or a nightmare (unusual, but still too common). Rooming with Sanzo was, in short, something Goku had been so used that to he never thought about it. But despite that, beneath his conscious thoughts there was always the gentle background assurance: _Sanzo is here._

By the end of the journey that assurance had no longer been Goku seeking safety in the priest’s very presence, as he had in the early days after Mt. Gogyou, or him seeking Sanzo’s safety, as he had for more than a year after Rikudo and the desert youkai. It had simply been contentment, a sense of peace that resonated through to the bottom of his soul. Something Goku had never felt far from Sanzo, something the priest’s very presence brought to him. Something Sonhador had never in his life felt. 

He had been calling for Sanzo – for _someone_ – all his life, knowing that that call would go unanswered. And then Xu Lian had arrived, and for a few short days he had thought, had _believed_ , that there could be such a thing as instant and definite recognition. That he could find the person he was looking for and know immediately, just as Goku had always known. 

And now he had met him, and he still felt that his voice was echoing into the void. There was no answer here. And that was devastating. 

Sonhador pressed his eyes closed tightly, and wondered whether with time and effort he could build that same assurance, that same peace. That same love. 

He could only hope so. 

\----------------------------------------------------

Sonhador didn’t fall back asleep, spent the rest of the night in an exhausted border state, too tired to wake fully but too awake to dream. He got up at seven by the bedside clock and showered – the stream of water here was even weaker than that in Delhi.

When he came out of the bathroom Ansgar was gone, and Xu Lian was standing with his back to the room, pulling a shirt over his head. In the artificial light his skin was pale and unblemished, except for a pair of matching marks over his shoulder blades, in the vague shape of spread hands. They were darker than knife-scars, closer to the kind of marks hot burns left. 

“Uh, good morning,” said Sonhador, glancing around at the closed door. “Where’s Ansgar?”

Xu Lian glanced over his shoulder, eyes wide. “Oh, good morning. He went back to his room to change.” He tucked his shirt into his pants, and turned to reach across the bed and pick up his glasses. 

“Huh. What about –” Sonhador glanced at the wall their room shared with Rob and Quinn. 

“I knocked on my way by; they’re getting up. We should try to get on the road as soon as possible.”

Sonhador nodded, and zipped up his bag. “Right.” 

\----------------------------------------------------------  
They split up almost as soon as they all met, in order to get on the road sooner. Rob and Quinn went to check out while Xu Lian took the van to get gas and Sonhador and Ansgar went out in search of breakfast.

It was much cooler and drier here in Kanpur, closer to the Himalayan mountains. The early morning was cold enough that Sonhador wished he had worn a long-sleeve shirt and Ansgar, who had come out with a finely-knit sweater draped over his shoulders, pulled the extra layer on after a block. The blond looked bland and unimpressed as always, watching the crowd streaming past them with droopy eyes and ignoring the frequent stares he drew. 

The streets here were less commercial than the ones in Delhi, stores smaller and more functional with fewer decorations and dustier displays. A poorer city, or at least a poorer section of it. And somewhere in the huge crowd, men who were hunting them. Sonhador walked along next to Ansgar with an easy smile and bright, watchful eyes. 

They found a bakery a few blocks along and bought rolls and flatbread, Ansgar choosing and paying with his own credit card. Sonhador opened his mouth, and then abruptly remembered the man wouldn’t understand anything he might say. That, without the others present, he had almost no ability to communicate with the man who had been Sanzo. He shut his mouth again with a sigh and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. If Ansgar noticed, he gave no sign of it.

Bread carefully packed in paper bags, they continued down the street. Further along there was a convenience store, and there they bought drinks and sandwiches and wraps for lunch, and some salty and sweet snacks. 

Walking back, Sonhador carried most of the purchases in one hand, his pipe resting on his shoulder and held by his other, while Ansgar strode along beside him with the bread. He glanced at Ansgar’s right hand, now on their inside. The knuckles weren’t swollen or bruised, and Sonhador relaxed slightly.

“ _You okay?_ ” he asked in his limited English, indicating Ansgar’s hand with his eyes. The blond followed his gaze, then jerked his hand up, fisting it a few times.

“ _Fine_ ,” the man replied, and shifted some of his burden to the hand. Sonhador nodded.

“ _Good_.” Nevertheless, he would have to keep a closer eye on Ansgar. Maybe Quinn’s suggestion of some kind of weapon had been a good one, although in inexperienced hands any weapon could be as dangerous as none. Maybe Quinn or Xu Lian could teach him some simple stances and moves...

They returned to the hotel to find the van outside waiting for them. Ansgar climbed into the passenger seat while Rob pulled open the back door for Sonhador, who scrambled back into the back seat. They ate in the parking lot for Xu Lian’s benefit, a breakfast of deliciously sweet and fresh pastries studded with dried fruit and raisins, and orange juice. They finished quickly, fingers sticky and laps full of crumbs, and then pulled out onto the road again. In the front, Ansgar gave monosyllabic instructions from a map which Xu Lian followed with an expression of deep concentration as they manoeuvred through thick traffic and narrow lanes. No one spoke until they had left the dense thoroughfares of Kanpur behind and were out on the straighter, slightly less crowded country lanes. 

“So,” said Rob after a while, breaking the silence while outside the window open fields passed by and rolling foothills framed the horizon. “Last night.”

“We don’t know anything more than we knew yesterday,” said Quinn.

“Yeah, except whatever’s going on sure ain’t a coincidence.”

“Well,” said Xu Lian slowly, passing a pick-up truck whose back was filled with dusty men holding farming tools, “we have no way of finding out who it was. But could we figure out how they tracked us?”

“I suppose someone _could_ have overheard us in the restaurant in the Delhi hotel,” said Quinn dubiously.

“And just happened to be working for whoever’s behind this whole thing?” asked Rob, turning to him and raising an eyebrow. Quinn shrugged.

“I didn’t say it was a good explanation. But there aren’t many to choose from, and none of them are good.”

“What about someone in America?” suggested Sonhador. “You all met there before coming here, right? Maybe someone overheard you there. Or when you met Ansgar, Xu Lian.”

There was a pause. “It’s possible,” granted Xu Lian, “But we had very few conversations in public places. The likelihood –”

“There are no likely options,” broke in Quinn. He glanced at the man next to him. “Could you get into the airline logs? Find out if anyone flew to Delhi from Pittsburg after we met Xu Lian?”

Rob looked at him dubiously. “On a public terminal? The kind of stuff you get at internet cafes isn’t worth spitting at. It’d take hours, plus it’d be out in public. Not a good mix. ‘Sides, does it really matter if we find out who it is now? Odds are, if we ever find the castle, they’ll show up pretty damn fast. You don’t need to know who sent grunt to beat the crap out of him.”

Sonhador snorted.

“A grunt, no,” allowed Quinn. “What about soldiers? Or mercenaries? Did anyone get a look at the men?”

“The guys last night were just hired thugs. Probably bought off the street,” said Sonhador. “No training, cheap weapons.”

Rob looked back over his shoulder. “So what, our guy’s a skinflint?” 

“Not necessarily.” In the mirror, Xu Lian’s eyes flashed. “They could have started cheap to save money – why spend a lot if cheap will do? There’s no reason to assume they won’t hire someone more competent next time – possibly much more competent.”

“Always liked your optimism,” muttered Rob. 

“How easy is it to obtain guns in India?” asked Ansgar suddenly, without any intonation in his voice to hint at his thoughts. 

“Legally? Difficult. Illegally? More than half of the world’s illegal firearms are in India,” said Xu Lian. 

Sonhador blinked. “Wow.”

“Maybe we _should_ get you one,” said Rob.

“Maybe we should be concerned about the possibility of fighting armed men,” said Quinn, somewhat severely. 

Rob shrugged “Are we talking about handguns, or assault weapons, or what?” 

“That I don’t know. But we should probably assume the worst.”

“I liked this trip better when we were up against Archaeologists.” Rob grimaced as he turned to face Sonhador. “Any beer back there?”

Sonhador shook his head. “Uh-uh. Just juice and coke.”

The white-haired man sighed. “Gimme a coke, then. This is going to be a long day.”

\----------------------------------------------------------

The landscape grew gradually hillier and rougher as they headed east, sometimes driving on highways and others on dusty dirt roads. The scenery here was much different than that surrounding Delhi: the lush trees and blossoming plants were replaced by hard-looking stony fields and smaller, more wizened trees with small dry leaves. The mountains rose up behind the hills, huge and craggy, a soft blue at the base and pure white at the top. They were the first mountains Sonhador had ever seen while he was awake, and he ducked low in his seat to stare at them out of the windshield, stunned by their size.

They drove through the foothills all afternoon, rocky walls rising higher and higher around them and roads becoming more and more curved the deeper they drove. The traffic here was sparse, the villages small and poor. The farmland thinned out until there was none left and the hills became covered with sheep and goats rather than crops, chewing weedy and prickly grass with impassive expressions. 

They stopped for lunch by the side of the road, getting out to stretch their legs and relieve themselves. The air here was cold and crisp and pure, with a sharp wind blowing down from the mountains. Sonhador dug out one of his two sweaters and pulled it on, and even then sat hunched over on a stone while he ate his sandwich, watching Ansgar out of the corner of his eye. Rob and Quinn sat shoulder-to-shoulder on another stone, their backs to the wind; Rob’s hat blew off twice and he had to chase after it, cursing, while the other man laughed. Xu Lian, jacket whipping about his legs and collar turned up, walked slowly here and there while he ate, staring vaguely off into the distance. Ansgar sat alone, looking up at the mountains with an unconscious frown. 

None of the mountains looked familiar, but then Goku had never paid them any attention from this side – he had had no reason to look behind him. Neither did the foothills, but they all looked the same anyway: entirely unremarkable. All he could really think to look for was the bizarre claw-like outcroppings which had framed the castle; as of yet he hadn’t seen anything that remotely resembled them.

\----------------------------------------------------

The afternoon drive was long and boring. Since they all had to be looking out the windows in hopes of spotting something that was even vaguely familiar, there was no possibility of playing cards or any other game that might distract them. After a while Xu Lian turned the radio on, the foreign music translating oddly with the spell into a kind of badly-paced gibberish. Sonhador listened to it with half an ear while staring out at the hills passing by. 

Nothing he saw was familiar.

They drove until the sky began to darken, sun setting huge and red in the lowlands behind them. Finally, Xu Lian sighed.

“Should we stop for the day? It might be best to find a hotel before it gets dark.”

The suggestion was met with relieved assent, everyone relaxing in their seats. Sonhador looked away from the windows thankfully, eyes beginning to feel strained with all the hard staring at the landscape waiting for something to leap out at him. 

“Where can we stop?” asked Quinn, leaning forward to glance at the map over Ansgar’s shoulder. The blond indicated a town, map crinkling under his finger. 

“We’re only about thirty kilometres from Gola. It looks like a reasonable size.”

“How far’s that in miles?” asked Rob, unwrapping a new toothpick. “I’m starving.”

“About 20,” said Quinn mildly, sitting back. 

Rob turned to look at Sonhador. “Hungry?”

“Huh? Oh, y-yeah. Yeah,” he stuttered, smiling unevenly. Rob gave him an inquisitive look, but when he didn’t say anything more turned back around, toothpick twitching between his lips. Sonhador’s stomach felt like it was climbing up the inside of his ribcage. But food paid for by everyone but him somehow wasn’t very appetizing. 

\-------------------------------------------------------

They ate in a little restaurant where the air was thick with the scent of savoury and spicy dishes, Xu Lian reading the Hindi menu to them. In the end they all ordered randomly anyway, and when the steaming food arrived traded dishes and portions until everyone was satisfied with what he had. Sonhador’s was some kind of white meat, probably chicken, in a rich red sauce that tasted of nothing he had ever eaten before and only vaguely of foods Goku had eaten. It came with sweet tea and water, which he drank down thirstily. They very purposefully chatted of nothing relating to their search – of music and movies and world events, all of which left Sonhador high and dry. 

The hotel was right next to the restaurant, a small block-style building of ugly pinkish stucco and tile around which withered creepers had been planted to try to improve the look. In the dim light they looked like gnarled roots reaching up out of the earth, as if waiting to tear into the dirty walls and drag them down.

Their rooms were on the third floor, only two this time. Ansgar elected to room with Sonhador and Xu Lian, Sonhador taking the couch. It was only nine when they turned in, but by popular vote they had decided to get up at sunrise to avoid lingering. 

Sonhador sat on the low couch, whose worn material did little to protect from the springs beneath, a thick horsehair blanket wrapped around his bare shoulders. By the window-side bed, Xu Lian was changing into his pyjamas; in the bathroom Ansgar was brushing his teeth with water from a bottle of water. 

Sonhador was staring absently at the bedspreads – a sort of twisty pattern like several intersecting rivers in orange and purple – when a flash of white drew his eyes to Xu Lian. The man was pulling his shirt over his head, exposing his back. As he dropped the shirt on the bed and picked up his pyjama top, Sonhador could clearly see the dark scars over his shoulder blades. They weren’t scars after all, or in the shape of hands. They were dark, evenly-tinted birthmarks. And they were in the shape of spread dragon’s wings. 

He only became aware he’d made a sound when he heard it, a kind of startled hum. Xu Lian glanced over his shoulder, and then his eyes dropped towards his back. His mouth jerked into a rueful smile. “Bizarre, aren’t they? I never went swimming much,” he said, pulling his pyjama top on.

“I...” Sonhador couldn’t think of anything to say. Xu Lian’s smile evened out into a kindly one.

“Well, it’s better than white hair or red eyes. Really, Rob should have been Jeep,” he added, shaking his head. 

Sonhador canted his head to one side, trying not to stare. “Have you always had them?”

Xu Lian shrugged slightly. “Yes, although when I was young the shape was much less distinct – less surface area, I suppose. Which was probably just as well – I can’t imagine what the reaction would have been to a child born with matching wing marks on his back. They looked mostly like spots until I was a teenager and really hit my growth spurt. By then, I could hide them.”

In the bathroom there was a clicking, and then the door opened. Ansgar stepped out, wearing a loose t-shirt and flannel string-waisted pants. He glanced at the two of them, and then got into bed. Sonhador, taking the hint, lay down and drew his blanket over himself.

“Do you have enough pillows?” asked Xu Lian, getting into bed himself.

“What? Oh, yeah. Fine,” answered Sonhador, who had never had any until a few nights ago. He reached up and made sure of his pipe, leaning against the head of the couch where he could easily grab it even lying down. They had propped the room’s lone chair up under the door handle.

“Good night,” said Xu Lian, switching out the bedside light and throwing the room into darkness.

“Good night,” echoed Sonhador. Ansgar made a low sound in his throat. 

Sanzo would have snorted, he knew without thinking about it, knew solely because the sound compared incorrectly to expectations he hadn’t even known he’d held. He sighed, and closed his eyes.

\--------------------------------------------------------

Goku’s come to love snow. It’s fun to play in, and it doesn’t sap his energy like heat, and Gojyo hates it which means endless hours of teasing the kappa. And, unlike rain or heat, Sanzo doesn’t mind it so much. But they have no chains for Jeep’s tires, which means as soon as the snow gets heavy they have to walk. 

The snow’s still light enough to drive for now, low down in the mountains. Just a light dusting on the road, scarcely an inch deep, although that still means they have to go slowly and cautiously. The snow falling thickly from the sky cuts at them like diamond dust as they drive through it, Jeep’s windshield only catching half of it. It’s worst in the backseat, and he and Gojyo wear their blankets wrapped around them, swaddled up like infants. 

They stop for the evening in a low dell by the road, no villages for miles around to stay in. Goku goes off unto the underbrush to find water while the kappa looks for wood and Hakkai and Sanzo make camp. This close to the mountains there are plenty of streams; he finds one by sound and smell and fills the buckets with the icy glacial run-off. He carries them back with his blanket draped low on his shoulders so he can wrap it around his bare hands, wishes Hakkai had finished knitting the gloves he promised even if they were pink. 

Back in the dell, Hakkai has begun cutting the vegetables they bought at the last town into a pot, slicing potatoes and carrots dexterously in his hands. Jeep is sitting on his shoulder, watching with red eyes as the vegetables drop down into the cauldron with dull clumps. Sanzo is sitting on a long stone untidily dusted of its snow, smoking with his usual thoughtless frown. He glances at Goku when he comes trotting down the side of the depression with the water slopping over the sides of the buckets, but doesn’t say anything. Hakkai looks up and smiles.

“Ah, Goku. Thank you. Could you pour half of one into the pot, please?”

Goku obliges, then puts the buckets down beside it. “Where’s Gojyo?”

Sanzo snorts, and taps at the end of his cigarette, ash drifting away in the cool breeze. “Screwing around somewhere,” he says. Far off in the trees, something crashes down with a prolonged thrashing. No one looks up.

“‘S too bad we couldn’t bring a sukiyaki pot,” says Goku, clearing a space of snow for the eventual fire with his boot. 

“There are other things I would rather have brought,” says Sanzo morosely. More cigarettes, thinks Goku, or alcohol. 

“Well, we only have a limited amount of space. We’re already a large burden for Jeep.” Hakkai finishes slicing the potatoes, and pulls out the meat. With no way to keep it reliably cool, the only meat they can carry with them is tinned or dried. Today it’s dried, long strips of dark honey-cured jerky. Hakkai tears them like leather in his hands and drops them into the cold water. On his shoulder, Jeep mewls. 

With nothing to do until Gojyo returns with the wood, Goku goes over to sit down next to Sanzo, brushing off the end of the rock the priest isn’t using. Sanzo glances at him but doesn’t say anything, and Goku drops down and sticks his legs out in front of him, relishing the chance to stretch them fully. 

Off in the distance comes the sound of snapping branches. As it grows louder it’s accompanied by a low murmuring, like a running brook. And then, as it comes closer still, the murmuring resolves into the sound of Gojyo cursing under his breath. 

The kappa emerges from the forest with needles and branches in his hair and all over his coat, carrying a stack of cleanly-cut logs in his arms and looking surly. He stomps down to them and drops the logs in a pile and then promptly shakes himself like a dog, sending needles flying everywhere. Takes off his coat and begins to give it a more thorough brushing.

“The hell happened to you?” asks Goku, amused, and receives a silent glare in return. 

“Ah, Gojyo. Would you lay the fire, please?” 

Gojyo turns the glare on Hakkai, who meets it with his pleasant smile. He folds almost immediately, and begins to haphazardly toss logs and branches into a pile with one hand, pulling dried sticks out of his long hair with the other. When he’s done he pulls out his lighter and begins to flicker it at the kindling, trying to get the thin branches to take. 

It does eventually, dusk falling quickly around them and the wind picking up. It takes a while for the water to boil, but they begin eating almost as soon as it has; the meat’s already cooked after all, and they’ve all had worse than hard potatoes. 

They sit in the flickering firelight, all painted in hues of orange and red, sipping thin broth and chewing on hard vegetables. The snow is hardly falling at all now, cloudy sky above wholly black. Goku welcomes it; it means tonight won’t be bone-chillingly cold. On the other side of the fire, Jeep curls in against Hakkai’s neck, his fine scales a flickering mandarin orange, while Gojyo shuffles slowly closer to the two of them, blanket wrapped around his shoulders and eyes and hair the deep red of old blood in the low light. 

Beside Goku, Sanzo’s finished his soup, bowl sitting on the ground beside the stone. He’s pulled his own blanket around him, completely covering the white of his robes and helping him fade into the dark night. Only his hair stands out, and even that is the dull greyish gold of old musty wheat. He’s hunched against the biting wind, staring out into the darkness rather than at the flames to keep what night-vision he can, chin jutting out slightly and eyes focused for the far distance. 

The stone is cold under Goku, even through the layers of jean and wool. The ground won’t be much warmer though, he knows, and certainly wetter. He finishes his own portion of stew and sets the bowl down. For the moment, Sanzo’s not smoking, hands hidden away inside the folds of his blanket. Goku shifts carefully closer, slow as a starfish walking across the ocean floor, until he’s pressed just slightly against Sanzo, shoulder to shoulder and knee to knee. 

Sanzo’s eyes flash to his, mouth a long drooping line. Stares at him for a moment, eyes deep burgundy in the firelight. Then he shrugs very slightly, and looks away again. Goku smiles and slumps down against him, and the wind runs over their buttressed backs.

\--------------------------------------------------------------

Sonhador was woken by an irritating beeping. Opened his eyes and found himself staring at a water-stained ceiling. He sat up and looked around; Xu Lian was stepping out of bed, hair slightly tussled. In the other bed, Ansgar turned over and then sat up with a sigh and very bleary eyes. 

Sonhador glanced at the thick curtains and saw a crack of light from between them. “What time is it?”

“6:30,” answered Xu Lian, running a hand through his hair and putting on his glasses. “Just before dawn. Time to get going.”

Sonhador nodded and stood. Stretched his sleepy muscles, yawned, and looked around for his duffle bag.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

They followed the same routine again, picking up breakfast to eat in the van and then leaving as soon as they had finished. They drove north-east now, following winding roads and staring out the windows again at the scenery passing by. The roads here were slightly more travelled, traffic in sight nearly all the time. They passed little villages and over rivers and unevenly-sided fields, staring at the skyline while around them trucks and ramshackle buses tottered by full of thin men and women with sun-baked skin. 

They turned on the music simply to drown out the silence, but Sonhador didn’t pay it any attention and doubted anyone else did either. Between confusing songs with warped words they played commercials and news-bites about places and people and things he had never heard of and could make nothing of. 

They stopped for lunch by the side of the road again, more quiet even then they had been the day before. He hadn’t really consciously expected the mission would be easy, but at the same time everything had hinted at it. They had gotten here so quickly with such simplicity that it had seemed only natural to expect it would be just as easy to find the castle. And now it was looking like they might have to spend days, _weeks_ driving around staring out of windows all day looking for something that struck a chord with memories more than a millennium old. He sat down absently on the hard ground and started eating without particularly paying attention to his actions. Goku and the rest of them hadn’t had much of an idea where they were going, but right now it felt like their goal had been a hell of a lot more concrete than the one Sonhador was chasing. 

They ate in silence, and then trudged back into the van.

\-------------------------------------------------------

In the afternoon they skirted along the Nepalese border, passing by several small crossing outposts while they stared up at the mountains towering over them. After a while Sonhador rested his forehead against the window, eyes beginning to glaze over again. The foothills here were just as innocuous as the ones from yesterday, no hint of sinister shadowy peaks or outcroppings twisting up out of the earth like the peeled rind of an orange. The people they passed were mostly peasants, farmers or shepherds, and stared at them blankly when they stopped to try to describe what they were looking for. Overhead, the sun drifted westward, shadows lengthening.

“We’re going to be here forever,” groaned Rob, dropping his head back and staring up at the van’s ceiling. “What if it was destroyed? What if the castle and the crazy rocks are all gone and we’re looking for a hole in the ground? For all we know we passed it yesterday morning.”

“It can hardly take two years,” said Quinn.

Rob rolled his head to give him an unimpressed look. “It _could_ take weeks, though. Months, even. There are hundreds of valleys and gullies here, and it could be in any one of them – fallen down into rubble, for all we know.

Sonhador looked up. “Is there any way Xu Lian could track it? You know, like you traced us?”

Behind the wheel, Xu Lian shook his head. “I was able to trace you because I knew what I was looking for, knew the signature of your souls. We don’t know who is trying to resurrect Gyuumaou, and I can’t track a building. There are dowsing and scrying arts, but I know almost nothing about them. Frankly, I assumed we would be able to find it without too much difficulty. And I had no idea how much time we had. I could have books sent to me, but it would take months to gain even a basic understanding of the techniques.”

“No, then,” said Ansgar flatly.

Sanzo might have known how to find a hidden building, Sonhador thought. He had been able to break powerful barriers, at least, and had never been deceived by spells or shikigami. But his were the one set of memories they didn’t have. Sonhador blinked slowly, face falling, and turned to stare back out the window again. Up high overhead the mountains’ white tips were like clouds, so that if he let his eyes unfocus it was hard to tell where the sky ended and the earth began. 

They drove on.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

They stopped for the evening when the shadows behind the hills became too long and headed west again looking for a town to spend the night in. Seeing the sun ahead of them in the windshield cheered Sonhador up for the first time that day, although only until he thought about it.

There were no cities nearby, only little villages and hamlets full of small flimsy buildings where the dour-faced inhabitants wore mostly rude woollen cloaks and wraps over thin shirts and worn pants. These were the kinds of towns the Ikkou had travelled through, where the closest thing to a hotel was a family inn, and restaurants were little more than extended kitchens with a couple of extra tables. 

The ground here was hard and stony, and the plants sparse and small and table mainstays – few superfluous flowers or decorative shrubs. Small gardens had been planted here and there between the buildings, mostly harvested now but some hoed for winter vegetables. There were little sheds and barns behind the main street, from which emerged the baaing and bleating of sheep and goats and the clucking of hens. This place felt closer to home than any other they’d visited so far, air heavy with hardship and poverty. 

The restaurant they ate in was empty except for them, the sole waitress a matronly woman with heavy wrinkles and greying hair. The food was plentiful but bland, mostly root vegetables with tough meat. Again, they talked of nothing in particular, conversation dry and stilted. Sonhador sat facing the windows and watching the main street; the occasional truck and bus rumbled by, and once a lanky teen passed leading a thin bull on a rope. 

They separated after dinner to get ready for the next day, intending again to leave at dawn. Xu Lian and Ansgar went with directions from the waitress to find an inn, while Sonhador and the Americans went in search of food and drinks for the road. There were no convenience stores or supermarkets here, only tiny grocery stores with very dusty shelves and limited selection. They picked out drinks and packages of dried food without much discussion, Sonhador finding for the first time in his life that a long day of doing nothing could somehow be more tiring than one spent working. 

Outside, the sun was just setting low and red on the horizon, shadows stretching for yards behind buildings and people. 

Sonhador’s senses weren’t as sharp as Goku’s, but he’d lived all his life in the shadow of danger. He didn’t recognize what it was that alerted him; all he knew was that something was wrong, and by then he was already moving. He spun his pipe one-handed straight into the gut of the man leaping at him from the shadows of the doorway next to him, dropping him to the hard ground instantly. From the alley on the right of the store two more men appeared, steel glinting in their hands. Rob and Quinn dropped their bags in movements so synchronised they appeared timed and turned to face the men charging towards them with wide shoulders and ready hands. Sonhador made to join after them when a jolt in his heart stopped him dead in his tracks.

_Sanzo!_

He spun around, trying to remember which direction Xu Lian and Ansgar had gone in. Further down the street another two men peeled out of an alley and ran down the street away from him. Sonhador took off after them, heart pounding in his chest and palms sweaty on the cool metal of the pipe. Even several dozen yards away, their stances betrayed their knives. 

Without slowing, the two men slammed through the door of a muddy-brown building. Heart-beat ringing in his ears Sonhador pressed his burning muscles into a faster sprint, eyes focused as sharp as he could force them on the doorway.

_Sanzo! Sanzo!_

He was only yards from the door when something heavy struck him down from behind. He fell in a tumbling heap, somersaulting once on the ground and dropping his pipe rather than risk breaking his arm. A boot kicked him hard in the back, knocking him down again before he could twist to his feet, and then descended again to slam into his ribs. Sonhador rolled onto his side, coughing and gasping for breath, knowing that Goku would have shrugged off the kicks but unable to himself. Stared up at the man above him, raising a knife that shone red in the setting sun. He was already dropping to one knee to bring it slicing down. Far off, Sonhador heard someone shout, but all he could see was the flashing of the blade – 

_Bang!_

The knife disappeared in a crack of gunfire, man falling with a scream and scrambling away clutching at his hand. Sonhador turned in the direction of the shot, eyes wide and ribs aching, and saw a figure silhouetted against the last bright rays of the sun as they slanted between two houses.

A voice as familiar as his own – more familiar, immeasurably more – spoke in a gruff tone he had heard a thousand times before.

“ _The fuck’re you doing, you stupid monkey?_ ”


	7. The Discredited

_“The fuck’re you doing, you stupid monkey?”_

In reality, he sat still for only a heartbeat. But in his head, years’ worth of memories snapped past, time flowing quick and sharp as an electric current. _Shut the hell up / He’ll be staying with us / Goku… / Sit gawking like that and I will leave you behind / We’re going on a mission / Goku – / Silence or death! / You are a stupid monkey! / Would you want us to bring you back? / I didn’t drag you all the way here to do this on my own / GOKU!_

He just knew. Knew as surely as he could recognize the sun in the sky. 

Without hesitation, Sonhador grabbed his pipe and pulled himself to his feet, crossed the street in five tight paces to the man standing there. For an instant, the street, the fight, the quest, the world went forgotten. Sonhador stared at the figure ahead of him, standing framed by the last rays of the setting sun, and saw in his posture and expression a man he had once known as well as himself.

He wasn’t much taller than Sonhador, lanky with a thin face partially obscured by heavily tinted sunglasses and framed by black wavy hair. He was dressed in tight, dark jeans and a worn canvas jacket over a wrinkled shirt. And he was holding a black pistol in his hand with extreme confidence. 

Sonhador took a breath, and felt warmth spreading in his chest. Stopping beside the stranger, he turned with his pipe in hand to stare out down the street. To his right, Rob and Quinn were both running towards them; behind them two men were lying in a heap on the ground. 

Across the street the door to the inn flew open, and Sonhador’s attention darted to it. Xu Lian took one step outwards with his hands raised in defensive posture and stopped, eyes flashing to them, and then the gun. Behind him in the foyer was Ansgar, eyes wide and pale hair shining in the inn’s flickering electric light.

Deliberately as a compass needle turning to the North, the pistol swung around to point directly at the blond’s forehead. “Who the hell’re you?” 

Rob and Quinn stumbled to a scuffling halt, eyes wide. Xu Lian reached back and slammed the door shut behind him in one swift gesture, concealing Ansgar. 

Beside Sonhador, the man pushed his sunglasses up into his hair to reveal flinty grey eyes. He strode sharply across the intervening yards, wide mouth sketching a grim line, and made to open the door. Xu Lian grabbed his arm before his hand touched the handle, and twisted to throw a kick at his side. 

Sonhador was between them before he had even processed his own movement, blocking the kick with his pipe and shifting backwards with the force of the blow. Xu Lian stumbled to regain his balance, shoes pivoting with a sharp scuffle on the concrete of the entranceway, and stared down at him with shocked eyes.

“Sonhador, what –”

“Let him go, Xu Lian. It’s Sanzo. _He’s Sanzo._ ”

“What are you talking about, he’s _attacking_ –”

Sonhador stared straight into the former dragon’s dark eyes without wavering. “I know, Xu Lian. _I know he is._ ” Even with his back to the stranger he felt completely safe and confident, trusted him implicitly. Thought had nothing to do with it. He just knew.

Xu Lian, looking at him very hard, slowly let go of the man’s sleeve and stepped away. Released, the stranger immediately slammed the door open and strode in. He blocked the chair that was swung down at him with his arm and then dropped it to grab Ansgar by the collar of his shirt, pressed the muzzle of his gun flush against the blond’s chest. He dragged him out into the falling dusk, shorter and darker than the stumbling Ansgar, and immeasurably more dangerous.

“Now. Who the hell are you?” Grey eyes flashed like steel, and violet flinched.

“A-Ansgar Mikkelson.”

“And you?” asked Quinn’s voice from behind them, very dry. Sonhador looked to him, and the stranger turned to glance over his shoulder. Quinn was standing with his long limbs held loose in a deceptively peaceful stance; his face set in a flat expression. Beside him, Rob stood scowling with his hands fisted and ready.

“About time you idiots showed up,” the stranger drawled, in Sanzo’s voice. Quinn’s eyes widened; Rob choked.

“Y-y-you –”

“Yes, me, kappa. So who the fuck is this?” he shook Ansgar’s collar. 

“Apparently not you,” replied Quinn. “But perhaps we should discuss it elsewhere.” He glanced significantly down the street. All along it, windows and doors were open a crack. Probably the entire town was out watching the crazy foreigners fighting in the street.

“You had somewhere in mind?”

“The van,” suggested Xu Lian after a moment’s pause, indicating it with a gesture. 

“Fine. We’ll sit in the back.” The dark-haired man with Sanzo’s voice turned Ansgar so that he was walking in front and marched him towards the van, making a short detour to pick a backpack up out of the shelter of a doorstep on the other side of the street. The other four stood, staring.

“Looks like he’s still a haughty bastard,” muttered Rob. 

Sonhador hardly heard him. His head was pounding, chest aching like a salted wound. But somehow, it was a good pain. Like the burn in a newly-set shoulder, or the snapping-to of a broken bone, it was reassuring: _From now on, it gets better._

\----------------------------------------------------------

Painful though running was to his bruised ribs, Sonhador jogged ahead to the van. He opened the back door and hurried in first, kicking aside some of the mess. The man with Sanzo’s voice shoved Ansgar in after him, and then sat himself on the blond’s other side. Swiveled to face the middle of the van, and placed the muzzle of his pistol deliberately against Ansgar’s jacket right over his heart.

Quinn and Rob slid in an instant later, Xu Lian getting in last and turning to watch the events in the back with a hard face. The man glanced at him without turning his head. “Jeep. Drive.”

“My name is Wen Xu Lian,” answered Xu Lian calmly, without moving. “And you are?”

Sonhador blinked. The immediate pressure, the need to do as Sanzo told him _right the fuck now_ , that had been pulling his muscles tight as garrotting wires, snapped abruptly and left him sitting in the back of the van beside two strangers who he had been protecting like lifelong friends. Two strangers whom he had chosen between in an instant on absolutely no merit better than instincts, which had told him to follow a voice rather than a face. And still… he didn’t feel confused. Didn’t feel a single ounce of uncertainty. And each word the man spoke just reinforced his trust.

“My name is Caerwyn Tannatt. You know who I am.” 

“P-please Xu Lian,” stuttered Ansgar, face contorted into one Goku had never seen – abject terror.

Xu Lian’s face hardened. “Bringing him was my mistake, my carelessness,” he said shortly. “Don’t punish him for it.” He turned and started the engine. Guided the van through the village of silent, staring people. But of course that too was familiar. 

Ansgar sat, white and silent with sweat beading along his hairline, while Quinn made curt introductions and gave a condensed explanation of their presence. Sonhador watched the stranger – Caerwyn – instead. His mouth twitched a few times, but he didn’t interrupt. His eyes, although grey, were just as hard as Sanzo’s had been – and the lids nearly as droopy. The sunglasses perched on top of his head should have looked incongruous, but he had Sanzo’s same effortless presence, as though no matter what he wore or did he would never look out of place.

“So,” he drawled at last, when Quinn was finished, “you idiots brought a complete stranger half way around the world into a possible war zone, without any idea who he was.” His speech had changed, and although with Xu Lian so close it was impossible to tell what language he was speaking in, Sonhador could only assume it was his native tongue. What was in Sonhador’s ears Portuguese had a strange, lilting quality, like the unfamiliar accents he had heard in the airport in Lisbon. Different enough to be difficult to understand without concentration, but still comprehensible. 

“We _thought_ he was _you_ ,” retorted Rob. 

“Because he had a pretty face.”

“Because he had _your_ face, you bastard.”

Caerwyn glanced at him and raised his eyebrows dryly, “Obviously not.” He looked forward to the rear-view mirror. “Although you can track life signatures, you never tried to track Sanzo’s?”

“No. It seemed so apparent that – well, you can see what we thought. What was the possibility of coming across a man not only with Sanzo’s face, but also his hair and eye colour? That couldn’t be chance. At least, it seemed that it couldn’t,” Xu Lian added.

“But obviously it was,” said Ansgar suddenly, speaking for the first time since his initial plea. There was still fear in his eyes, but there was also now a spark of indignation. “You convinced me I was essential to this, dragged me here, put me in danger, and it was all some huge mistake. I risked my job, my livelihood, my _life_ to come here, and you’re treating me like a criminal – like your _enemy_ , when an hour ago you were worried you wouldn’t be able to protect me. You’re holding me at gunpoint, for God’s sake. What the hell _is_ this?”

“Shut up,” said Caerwyn.

“He does have a point,” said Xu Lian gruffly, and Sonhador tensed in sympathy. _I found him_ , he had said, back in Palmeira. _He’s Swedish, living in Paris._ Xu Lian had found him, tracked him down, gotten to know him and convinced him to come all the way out here on this crazy-ass quest that no sane man would ever agree to. And now…

“You want me to believe you just _happened_ upon a man who just _happened_ to have Sanzo’s face but not his memories, and even so was willing not only to believe you crackpots but to come all the way here on this daft mission? No one’s that gullible, or that stupid.”

“It was a good opportunity –” broke in Ansgar.

“You just told us you’re risking your career.”

“So I exaggerated. You’ve got me at goddamn _gunpoint_.”

Caerwyn ignored him. “You – Sonhador – find his phone.”

Sonhador snapped up, shocked at the sound of his name being called by those gruff tones. “Ah, uh, right.” He had seen Ansgar checking it before, remembered him putting it… “I think it’s in his jacket pocket.” Ansgar shied away when he reached for it, but Caerwyn pressed the gun more firmly against his chest and he froze, holding even his breath. Sonhador slipped his hand guiltily into the left side pocket and found the phone, slick and rectangular and surprisingly light. “Okay.”

“Check outbound calls and texts.”

Sonhador stared down at the device in his hands; he had seen them before, of course, but never actually held one. “Uh…”

“Give it here.” Rob reached back, eyes sympathetic behind the front of irritation; Sonhador flipped it across. The phone made quiet swishing noises as the hacker flicked through it, fingers flying over the screen. “No outbound calls; several outbound texts. Hmm…” More clicking. “Three days ago: ‘New Delhi, Laxmi Hotel.’ Two days ago: ‘Kanpur, Hotel Sunrise,’ Yesterday: ‘Gola; Hotel Atiti,’ Two hours ago: ‘Chandausi, local inn.’” He looked up, surprise showing beneath the cocky raised eyebrow.

“So,” said Caerwyn. “Not a coincidence, then.”

Sonhador let out a hissing breath; Xu Lian tensed and looked back to the road, eyes narrow in the mirror.

Ansgar’s eyes widened, “Please –”

“Who are you, and why are you here? Tell me now, and I might not kill you.”

There was a long desperate silence as Ansgar turned to each of the other four one by one; they all met his pleading eyes unflinchingly, and every time he was the first to look away. When his turn came Sonhador stared into Sanzo’s violet eyes, and saw the ugly cowardice of a traitor there for the first time. It turned his stomach, and as soon as Ansgar looked away he swivelled to stare out the window, face hard and tight. Behind him, Caerwyn tightened his grip on the trigger.

“I…”

“Or perhaps you’d rather ask any of them how many times Sanzo showed mercy to the enemy?” 

Reflected in the window, Sonhador could still see the scene playing out. Caerwyn leant in closer, eyes narrow. “I’ll give you a hint. You won’t need fingers to count it out.”

There was a short pause, tension stretching like an elastic band pulled tighter and tighter. And then, all at once, it snapped. Ansgar sucked in air in a juddering gasp, and nodded unevenly.

“You’re right! Y-you’re right. It was a set up – but it wasn’t my idea, I was just hired! I had nothing to do with it, I don’t even know what the plan is!” 

“Who hired you?”

“I don’t know.” The pistol twisted infinitesimally, and Ansgar panted for breath. “I swear, I don’t! I only met him in person twice. He called himself Ni; wore long clothes and sunglasses when I met him – I never saw his face. He first met me in Stockholm when I was in high school. Said I had beautiful eyes, real potential to be a first-class fashion model, but my face wasn’t good enough. He offered to pay for surgery and help me get into the business. My family had nothing – I was going to be a plumber. Of course I agreed. There was surgery, several sessions, all at the best clinics and with no expense. When I finished, he set me up with an agency in Paris and made sure my name got around. It was only when I had been going for two years that he told me some men might come looking for me. Might want me to go with them on a trip, to India, and that I had to go with them. That he would break me if I didn’t, would make sure no one in the industry ever even looked at me again just as easily as he got them to pick me up, and that it would be back to Stockholm and plumbing. I couldn’t – I just – the money, the clothes, the – I couldn’t give that up. What did a few weeks in India matter? I swear, that’s all it was. Just a paid job.” He was gasping by the time he finished, sentences coming short and breathless. 

“Just a paid job that could have gotten us killed,” muttered Rob darkly. 

“Describe the man. Ni,” ordered Caerwyn.

“I told you, I never saw his face. He had dark hair, cut short. He looked strong, was maybe a bit shorter than average. Moved quickly, with sharp movements – like you. He spoke Swedish without an accent, but it could have been a trick – a spell, like Xu Lian’s.”

“His phone number.”

“I don’t have that either, just his email address. He told me to send him the location of every place we stopped for the night.”

“Kappa?”

“ _Rob_. And I’ve got the address. Hotmail, no problem to hack.”

Caerwyn’s mouth twitched, grey eyes flickering over to give the hacker a low-lidded look. “Figures.”

“The hell does that mean?!”

Outside the window, the dark countryside had given way to a well-lit street. The road was lined with buildings, and while there were few neon signs there were several people on the sidewalks. A decent-sized town. 

“Stop the van,” said Caerwyn, abruptly, and Sonhador turned back to him. Ansgar made a low sound in his throat, stiffening away from the pistol. Xu Lian’s glasses flashed with the light of a streetlight as he shoulder-checked, and then he pulled over. Caerwyn leaned in close, grey eyes to violet. 

“You took what wasn’t yours. Count yourself lucky I don’t take it back.” With his free hand, he reached out and opened the door. Hooking his gun-hand over Ansgar’s back, he shoved him out of the van in one strong movement. Picked up the leather bag from the floor, and threw it out after him. It hit the blond in the back, knocking him to his hands and knees. Rob tossed the cell phone out after it, flicking his wrist to give the thin device a wicked spin; it caught Ansgar in the back of the head. 

Sonhador didn’t realise consciously that they were waiting for something until Sanzo’s – Caerwyn’s – voice broke the grim silence. “Let’s go, you bastards.”

Quinn drew the door shut, and they pulled out into the steady stream of traffic. No one looked back. 

\-------------------------------------------------------

By unspoken consent they kept driving – less to get somewhere than for the sense of familiarity and safety it brought, or at least that was Sonhador’s impression. The Ikkou had lived most of their waking hours for two years in a moving jeep, to the point that Goku had sometimes felt uneasy on solid ground, like the sailors in Chang’an who swayed when they walked and smelled of salt and spoke only of the sea. 

“How the hell can it be Ni?” said Rob at last, staring out the window. “The bastard died in Houtou castle, and even if he didn’t he’d be dead by now anyway. Do the gods like screwing with us so much they’re even reviving our enemies?”

“Wouldn’t put it past them,” muttered Caerwyn, voice low.

“Maybe he was lying?” suggested Sonhador uncertainly. 

Xu Lian glanced in the mirror. “Ansgar? Or his backer?”

“…Dunno.”

Rob tangled his fingers in his short hair, making it stand on end. “Man, this sucks.”

There was a pause, depression sinking in. And then, “I think it might be a good idea,” said Quinn, calmly, “if you told us how you came to be here.” He was only partially turned in his seat, watching Caerwyn out of the corner of his eye with only the barest hint of a polite expression.

Caerwyn raised an eyebrow. “You should already know. He does.” He thumbed at Sonhador, who blinked.

“Me? I don’t –”

_You the one who’s been calling me? Shut up; it’s annoying._

Sonhador’s eyes widened. The image of gold hair bright against a blue sky flashing keenly through his memory. Violet eyes staring down, a hand reaching out, chains shattering. “Y’heard me,” he whispered. Heard him, and set out to find him, from the other side of the world. Again.

“Hard not to; you never damn well shut up.” Caerwyn crossed his arms over his chest, and Sonhador flushed.

“But… why now? All this time – all my _life_ – I’ve been –” he cut off his own question, looking away in embarrassment. 

“You think I don’t know that, idiot? All fucking day and night, _Sanzo Sanzo Sanzo._ ” He snorted, and then continued in a flatter voice, “International travel isn’t cheap.”

Sonhador swallowed, still staring at the seatback in front of him. Caerwyn hadn’t waited around wishing things would get better, wishing Goku would find him, and freeloading off the first offer that came. He’d earned the money and gone looking himself. 

“What I would like to know,” said Xu Lian, breaking in abruptly, “is how you knew we were here.” His eyes in the mirror were watching Sonhador, rather than the man next to him. Sonhador smiled weakly, and straightened up.

“18 years the damn monkey’s calling from somewhere far off to the south-west, never moving. Then overnight he’s on the other side of world, India or Africa. Figuring out where he was going wasn’t rocket science, was it? – although switching tickets was a fucking mess. After getting to Delhi all I had to do was head southeast until I caught up with you morons.” 

“What I would like to know is where you got that pistol from,” said Quinn, picking up on Xu Lian’s words with a glance at the black weapon now resting against Caerwyn’s knee. 

“Black Market. Easy and cheap, although the sights’re shite.”

Rob turned around fully, elbow resting on the seat back. “What _I_ want to know,” he said, grinning, “is how you ended up a limey.” 

Caerwyn slanted him a glare. “How do you imagine?” 

“Huh?” Sonhador’s eyebrows drew together as the conversation seemed to leap right over his head.

“He’s from England,” explained Quinn quietly in an aside.

“Wales,” interrupted Caerwyn, and then rolled his eyes when Sonhador’s puzzlement didn’t abate. “Never mind.” He ran his free hand through his hair and sighed. 

The bickering over accents, Sonhador didn’t understand, but reading body language was a different story. Exhaustion wasn’t something they could deal with right now – no way Sanzo’d fall asleep in the middle of something like this, and he doubted Caerwyn was any different – but energy levels at least were addressable. “Thirsty? We have some juice and coke.” He glanced down at the plastic bags scattered haphazardly around his feet. “Actually, I think Rob drank all the coke. But there’s juice. Pink, orange and purple,” he offered, tilting the strangely-labelled cans towards Caerwyn. The other man made an uninterested sound in his throat, but took the orange-coloured can all the same. Sonhador grinned, and opened the purple for himself; it tasted of sweetener and chemicals.

“Hey,” said Sonhador after taking a long drink, the first question he had addressed to the man with Sanzo’s voice, Sanzo’s hard eyes, Sanzo’s way of cutting the heart straight out of any matter and dealing with it alone. “When you threw out his bag – how’d you know it was his?”

“Apart from the tag with his name on it?” drawled Caerwyn, without looking at him. “None of you struck me as the superficially flashy type.” He glanced at Rob, gaze dropping to the bright pattern on his long-sleeved shirt. “But I could have been mistaken.”

“Why you goddamn curly-haired –”

“Now, now…”

Sonhador smiled, and took another sip of his drink. For the first time in this life, he thought he might be able to understand what it was like to belong.

\----------------------------------------------------------

They stopped in a small village not much different than the one they had left earlier in the evening. The local inn was a two-storey building separated from its neighbours by a cinderblock wall. A garden was growing in its shelter, stretching back along both sides of the inn towards the darkened back yard. They parked the van on the street beside a rusty pick-up and filed in behind Xu Lian. The front room was small and worn and smelt of dusty linen, the air dry and stale. The old man behind the counter querulously informed them that there were only two rooms, eyeing the five tall strangers with trepidation. He brightened up somewhat when Xu Lian paid for the night in cash, and directed them up the creaking stairs to the second floor with a toothless smile.

They didn’t bother to check out both rooms. Rob, leading the pack, simply threw open the first door and they streamed into it without question or comment. Unlike the other hotel rooms, it matched perfectly with Goku’s memories of travelling. Two creaking beds with thin mattresses set beside each other in the two corners to the left of the door, a scarred bedside table between them, a dying plant in an earthenware pot, and a loosely-woven rug spread to cover the naked floor. 

Rob and Quinn sat on the bed against the far wall with their backs braced against the whitewashed surface, while Xu Lian settled himself at the head of the nearer bed with his legs neatly crossed beneath him. Sonhador dropped his bag at the foot of the bed and perched on the wooden frame there, pipe leant up against the wall. Caerwyn entered last and stood, leaning against the bare wall to the right of the door. 

“You all had your questions,” he said, when they had settled down. Reaching into a pocket of his jacket, he produced a packet of cigarettes and a lighter; tapped one out and lit it. Marlborough, Sonhador saw, with a tiny pang. Of course. Caerwyn took a slow drag, and then held the cigarette off to the side in the same gesture Sanzo had always used when waiting for someone to move in Mah-jongg. “So now you can answer mine. Why the fuck are we back here?” He didn’t bother to look around the room again. Simply turned to stare directly at Sonhador, a pinprick of red light gleaming in his eyes.

The question came out of nowhere like a knife – like a jagged _spear_ – and stabbed straight to his heart, shock and terror tearing through him, choking the air from his lungs and filling him with a vicious burning horror. For an instant, the pain in his chest was so intense Sonhador thought his heart would burst. He felt himself sway on the edge of the bed, sight blurring, as his chest seized up. Her took hold of the bed with both hands and forced himself to breathe, pushed the fiery pain away while staring fixedly at the covering in front of him. It was only after a few breaths that he realised sound had faded out, and so only caught the end of Quinn’s answer.

“ – found Sonhador in Brazil, and brought him here to meet us. But I already told you that.” His tone was slightly admonishing, although Sonhador was in no state to consider why.

“ _How_ you got here, I know. I want to know why.”

Sonhador exhaled slowly and tilted his head to glance at the man out of the corner of his eye; Caerwyn was looking straight at him. “It should have been finished back then. Why wasn’t it?”

“You remember?” broke in Rob, from across the room. Caerwyn glanced over, irritated.

“Of course I do.”

“Well what the hell happened?”

Caerwyn pursed his lips, took a short drag from the cigarette, and shrugged. “You died,” he said, simply. “Everyone did, except Goku. Who damn well should have stopped the revival. So why didn’t he?” 

_Green and red and white, lying in their own pools of blood. And right in front of him… Bamboo rent, silk shredded, all stained bright scarlet. Warm, sticky hands…_ Sonhador scraped his tongue over his teeth, swallowed the bile down. He had thought explaining it to Ansgar, with Sanzo’s face, had been excruciating. But this… Being questioned, being interrogated by _Sanzo_ , when he had been the one who – No, not him; Goku. Sonhador gritted his teeth. The memories and emotions were too vivid, pulling him down into dark water, the currents growing stronger by the minute. He was already having trouble separating himself from them, Goku from Sonhador, Sanzo from Caerwyn. Soon he wouldn’t be able to, and Goku couldn’t face Sanzo. _Couldn’t._ Not after Houtou Castle.

“You unsympathetic bastard, the hell d’you mean ‘you died’? That’s _it_?” growled Rob, leaning forward. Xu Lian shifted as though to speak, although which conversation he was going to cut off Sonhador didn’t know.

Quinn turned to him, speaking softly. “Rob…” 

“Why’d he do it?” interrupted Sonhador, words rough as a rusty saw, before he lost his nerve entirely. Everyone else froze, so that in the quiet they suddenly seemed as loud as a shout.

Caerwyn straightened, cigarette forgotten in his hand, and stared straight him. He spoke slowly and deliberately, as if sparring. “Do what?”

“Bring him back.” Sonhador sat up, feet sliding off the edge of the bed and hitting the floor so hard it shook his spine. “Why’d Sanzo bring him back, after that? When all he had left – when he had _nothing_ left?!” Nothing but silence and the reek of blood, thick and viscous and _choking_ – he could almost smell it now, his throat clenching tight against it.

Caerwyn gave him a flat look, Sanzo’s classic _Why the hell am I having to explain this to you?_ look. “So the monkey could live,” he said. To Sonhador’s left, Xu Lian made a low noise in his throat. Caerwyn’s gaze flitted to him, and then back to Sonhador. His eyes narrowed sharply, and his face whitened with rage. He strode forward, flinging his cigarette into the plant’s pot, and stopped directly in front of Sonhador. 

“The hell did you do? Answer me – what the _fuck_ did you do, you goddamn monkey?” He reached out and grabbed Sonhador’s shirt in a white-knuckled grip, lifted him to his feet to snarl in his face. All Sonhador knew was the smell of smoke – smoke, and blood, and Sanzo’s gravelly voice in his ears commanding an answer…

“You were dead! Hakkai, ‘n Gojyo, ‘n Jeep, they were all – everyone was _gone!_ ” He was sobbing now, trying to suck in air and barely managing it. His own body choking him, disgusted with him, with his bloody, bloody hands – “You were dead – ‘n I killed you,” he gasped out, looking into Caerwyn’s wide grey eyes and seeing only violet. 

Caerwyn let him go abruptly, stepped back looking like he’d been shot in the gut. Behind him, Rob and Quinn were staring, shocked. Sonhador dropped to the floor, whole body trembling. Before anyone could say anything he stumbled to his feet, slammed into the door and scrabbled with shaking hands for the handle. Twisted it, fell out into the hall, and slammed it shut behind him.

He lay curled up in a gasping heap against the cool wall, waiting for the heat in his head to seep away and tucking his cold arms and legs in tight against his stomach. Desperate to think about anything other than his own – than Goku’s – misery, he listened to the conversation on the other side of the thin wall behind him. They were all speaking Chinese, he could recognize now, all of them sinking down perilously deeper into the personalities from their dreams. 

“The fuck’re you doing, you goddamn shitty priest?” Rob, loud and outraged.

“Shut up.”

“I agree. That was uncalled for. How could you imagine your death – Sanzo’s death – would ever sit well with him?” Quinn, with absolutely no smile in his voice.

“Tell me what happened. What did the idiot do?”

“What do you think?” Rob, angry and bitter.

“ _Tell me._ ”

There was a pause, Sonhador stiffening on his side. Then,

“He killed himself.” Xu Lian, cold and hard as frozen stone.

A longer silence, this one filled with splintering shards of ice. 

“Don’t you dare look surprised. You spent so much goddamn time pretending he didn’t care – pretending _you_ didn’t care – but even you can’t have noticed he loved you more than fucking _anything_ , you bastard.” 

“Rob –”

“If you were stupid enough to let the Seiten Taisei kill you, you should’ve just _left_ him. Better off crazy than having to wake up to that. The _hell were you thinking_ , bringing him back?”

“I was thinking he would _live_ , you fucking kappa –”

There came the sound of a punch landing, then hard footsteps on the floor and Quinn hissing angrily beneath Rob’s strangled shout: “ _You_ were his life, you complete –”

Something thumped against a wall, accompanied by the sound of someone speaking in a low voice and Rob muttering angrily, “Let me _go_ , he goddamn _deserves_ it –”

“ _He is not Genjyo Sanzo, Robert,_ ” snapped Quinn, audibly in English. Sonhador, lying on the floor outside, stiffened at the shock of the language shift and the further separation it brought.

He wasn’t Son Goku. Caerwyn wasn’t Sanzo. None of them had been there. None of this was their fault. Even though his heart, and every instinct he had, said otherwise.

Sonhador pulled himself unsteadily to his feet, muscles still a shaky, and walked down the hallway. He needed fresh air.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

The stairwell split off into a front and back hallway; the back had a door leading out into the inn’s walled garden. Although there were no lights outside, several windows in the inn were lit, and the glow was more than enough for Sonhador’s sharp eyes. He walked slowly between the shrubs and hoed rows of vegetables, careful not to tread on anything. Along the back wall were set several fruit trees, most bare in the early autumn but a few bearing late fruit. When he reached it he climbed the wall with lithe ease, perched at the top and took in deep breaths of the night air. He had always found security in heights, always taken to his roof in Palmeira when he was upset or uncertain. And no upset or uncertainty in Palmeira had ever compared to this.

Up in the dark sky above, the stars were bright. He anchored his feet in shallow holes chipped into the cinderblocks, and leant back to stare at them. For the first time since coming to India he looked up – really looked – at the night sky. And was shocked to see that it was different.

Sonhador had no education, but even he knew that Brazil and India were so far apart that the stars would be different. He had never been surprised that what he saw at night wasn’t what Goku had seen. He had always assumed, without really thinking about it, that it was simply a difference of location.

But the stars he saw now weren’t the stars he saw in his dreams. There were similarities, and some of the constellations remained almost the same. But Goku had spent a lot of time staring up at the stars – there wasn’t much else to do while camping out – and the differences were apparent. Nothing, not even the stars, stayed the same. 

It wasn’t the reassurance he’d been looking for. 

Sonhador straightened, swinging up into a sitting position and letting his legs dangle over the edge of the wall, just in time to see the inn’s back door slid open and shut. He tensed for a moment, but found he wasn’t concerned – his instincts were telling him there was no danger. He watched closely all the same as the figure walked out slowly into the dark garden, until he came out far enough that the lights from the windows silhouetted him in gentle light. A lanky frame tight-fitting clothes with wavy dark hair. Caerwyn.

After a moment, there was a click, and then a small red flare as the lighter was opened and a cigarette lit. The familiar scent of tobacco drifted over on the evening breeze. Without appearing to notice him, Caerwyn walked slowly through the garden towards the wall – and Sonhador – while burning down his cigarette. When he reached it he turned to lean up against it a couple of feet from Sonhador, looking back towards the inn. 

They stayed there for several minutes, neither of them moving except Caerwyn to light a second cigarette from the first. Somewhere behind them evening birds cooed softly; in the street in front of the inn a heavy truck trundled by. 

“How did he do it?” Caerwyn asked at last, voice soft and gritty, as though he had smoked twenty cigarettes rather than two. Sonhador stiffened, fingers digging into the uneven surface of the wall.

“Does it matter?”

Caerwyn blew out a long stream of smoke. When he answered, it was with blunt honesty. “To me? No. To Sanzo? It would have.”

“He shot himself. With the gun. It didn’t mean anything – it was just there.”

Caerwyn made a rough sound, and Sonhador’s twisting heart told him exactly what the other was feeling. 

“You didn’t cream Rob, did you?” He shifted, and tried for a lighter tone. It sounded stilted to his ears, but Caerwyn answered. 

“I don’t think Ha – Quinn would have allowed that. Or the dragon.”

A few beats of silence, in which Sonhador kicked the wall beneath him. Then, “They’re good guys. Less broken than the Ikkou, and real friendly.”

Caerwyn snorted. “It would be hard to be more broken.” He dropped his cigarette and ground it out, mixing the smell of earth with the dying scent of smoke. Sonhador sat still, slowly twisting his fingers against the rough wall and trying to work out what to say. He wasn’t any better at small talk than Goku had been – neither of them any good at disguising their thoughts. It had never mattered before – he’d always just said what he thought. He knew now it was because before, he had never cared what anyone thought of him. 

“I dunno how to do this,” he said finally, unable to find better, smarter words.

Caerwyn turned to look at him, eyes alone gleaming in the light. “Do what?”

“This. I’m not Goku, and you’re not Sanzo. But every instinct I have tells me you are. Tells me to trust you and listen to you and …” _And protect you. And love you._ He choked off into silence. “And that’s not fair. You don’t even know me, and here I am already followin’ you around like a dog. You were gonna come all the way to Brazil lookin’ for me, too, when you probably don’t have any money or anything,” he added, quietly. 

The man beside him turned to look back towards the inn, eyes no longer shining. Shifted so that his weight was supported by his elbows rather than his shoulders, and spoke in a low voice. 

“You’re right,” he said slowly, and Sonhador flinched. But he continued on, forcing Sonhador to listen. “I don’t know you. Sanzo didn’t know Goku, and that didn’t stop the damn monkey following him home. Didn’t stop him _letting_ the damn monkey follow him home,” he added in a gritty tone, as if admitting something he didn’t want to. 

“It’s not your memories telling Goku to trust Sanzo, it’s your instincts telling you to trust me. You can decide whether you want to listen to them or not, but they’re a part of you, just as they were a part of Goku. What you feel is the same thing Goku felt, but they’re not his feelings. You aren’t him.” He pushed away from the wall, took a step towards the inn and turned, grey eyes shining like stars. Different, but still there.

“As for money, it’s not important. What it buys you – food, clothes, shelter – that is. Accepting it from those who have it when you have none isn’t shameful. But then, you should already know that.”

_Some things in this world are important, monkey. Money’s not one of them._

“Yeah.” Sonhador hopped down, and followed Caerwyn back inside.

\-------------------------------------------------------

They shared the second room, Rob and Quinn bunking together and Xu Lian taking the other in the first room. Sonhador didn’t know whether Caerwyn was inherently just as set on going to bed early as Sanzo or whether he was just tired, but he only bothered to strip off his boots and jacket and place his gun on the bedside table before lying down. Sonhador, no more used to elaborate before-bed routines, dropped both bags directly in front of the door and propped his pipe up against the wall beside his bed before doing the same. He lay there for several minutes, staring at the ceiling, listening to the other man breathe. 

For the first time in his life, he felt really and truly content. There was no flash of lightning declaring it, no huge announcement. Just a gentle peacefulness: I am whole. 

“Caerwyn?”

“Go to sleep.”

“Yeah. But… I’m real happy that you came to find me. I just wanted you to know. I mean – thanks.”

Caerwyn snorted. “You’re no less noisy than he was,” he replied gruffly. And then, more quietly, “I couldn’t help but hear.”

Smiling, Sonhador closed his eyes, and went to sleep. 

\----------------------------------------------------------

For the first time that he can remember, Goku runs along under the blue sky, earth soft and sweet-smelling beneath his bare feet. There are hundreds of scents on the wind, and thousands of colour tones in the trees and grasses. There are flowers here – he knows the word even though he’s never seen one – little white and yellow ones in the grass, taller lush purple ones on thin-necked stalks, bright red ones the colour of flame. It’s amazing, this new world. More than he could ever have imagined, so crammed full with light and colour and sound – he spins in a circle just to feel the wind on his skin and in his hair, just to feel himself free in the air.

And all the time ahead of him the man with the golden hair walks stiffly, shoulders hiking higher every few minutes. His legs are much longer than Goku’s, and Goku has to hurry to keep up. He doesn’t mind; he could run forever. More importantly, he won’t let the man out of his sight. Won’t let go of this man with hair the colour of the sun, who came and brought him out of the cave. Who heard him calling when he never said a word aloud, when he never even had a name to call even though he wanted it more than anything. Even though it had always seemed like there was one there just an inch away from his grasp, like the bird that died when winter came. Something he was always reaching for, and could never, ever grasp hold of.

He beats up some dumb guys with dumb weapons for the man with golden hair, because they feel creepy and because he’s squaring up to fight them and Goku’s not gonna leave him to have to do it. And then for the very first time hunger strikes him with a pain so sharp that he falls to his knees, and it really hits him: he’s free. He’s _free!_

It should feel good – and it does. But really, more than anything else it casts into sharp bone-white relief the loneliness of the cave. The cave that robbed him of everything – even a name to call.

“So won’t’cha tell me your name? This time I’ll make sure to call it out.”

The man with golden hair turns to stare down at him, considering. Finally, he shrugs. “The thirty-first of China, Genjyo Sanzo.”


End file.
